When You Hurt Me The Most
by Liisa Vatanen
Summary: Morrigan/FemCousland pairing. Slightly AU, of course, since that didn't happen in-game. The Final battle is upon them, and Morrigan informs the Warden of a ritual that could save her life. What will happen after the Archdemon is slain?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Some parts of this are where the cutscenes are in-game, but I have shortened them and manipulated them slightly to make them fit with the story.

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age: Origins is not mine, sadly. Arielle is, though.

**When You Hurt Me The Most**

It was the night before the final battle; the battle that would change everything; the battle that would either be won, or lost. There could be no in-between; there could be no compromise made with the devilish Archdemon. The Darkspawn would either be defeated until the next sign of a Blight, or they would rise up: an unmovable force that would signify the end of the human race.

Only Grey Wardens could destroy the Archdemon, and in Ferelden, there were only two: Alistair, heir to the Theirin throne, and Arielle, daughter of the deceased Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland of Highever.

They too would have suffered the same fate of the other Grey Wardens at Ostagar at the hands of the Darkspawn, had it not been for the powerful Maleficar, Flemeth, aided by her daughter, the Witch of the Wilds, Morrigan. Teyrn Loghain, an arrogant, brooding man who was supposedly a valued ally of King Cailan, had deserted the Grey Wardens, eventually resulting in their near-extinction. Somehow, the events of the battle had become convoluted and it was the Grey Wardens themselves that were to blame for the death of their own, despite there only being two who had not been directly present on the battlefield.

Loghain's motives for pulling his army out of the battle baffled Arielle. Cowardice struck her as the obvious one, but then again perhaps he was conspiring against his own race and his loyalties secretly lay with the Archdemon itself. No, she'd thought, because if the entirety of the human race was going down, then so was he, allegiance or no. Power? Perhaps. He'd certainly grown in rank since King Cailan's death, having become the head of the army, replacing his daughter's husband. She couldn't quite fathom how he was able to live with himself, to look his daughter in the eye, with the knowledge that had he not retreated, her husband, his son-in-law, may still be alive to that very day.

It didn't matter anymore, because Alistair, Cailan's half-brother, and rightful heir to his dead brother's throne, had claimed his legacy; and Queen Anora – with much persuasion from Arielle. He'd been reluctant: partly out of guilt – stealing the wife of the brother he had not known – and partly out of his love for another.

Except, the other he loved, did not love him back. It pained her, knowing how he felt, and not feeling the same way. Her heart belonged to someone he would often remark did not deserve her; didn't deserve any kindness, save for the tip of a sword to the throat.

When she'd told him her true feelings, he'd taken it gallantly, and Arielle had thought it was perhaps because the other person, the object of her affections, had an entirely different anatomy to him. Possibly, in the world of men, losing out to a woman wasn't as terrible as losing to another man. Arielle loved Alistair dearly; of course she did, but only ever had, and only ever could, see him as a close friend, as a brother. If she had been interested in political power, wealth and fortune, she might have used Alistair's fondness of her to her own gain: suggesting that she rule alongside him during the discussion at the Landsmeet. The thought had crossed her mind, though not because of what she could profit from such, but because Alistair wanted Loghain dead and Queen Anora would not marry him if the blow were dealt with his sword. However, if she had gone along with it, not only would it have been the ultimate betrayal to the one that held her heart, but also to herself.

So she had killed Loghain, avenging Cailan, Duncan and every other Grey Warden that had been massacred by the Darkspawn because of his duplicity.

And when she'd struck him with her sword as he knelt before her, she'd felt a sense of satisfaction that had disgusted her, because, no matter how much she'd hated someone, she'd never wished them dead; except this time. She shouldn't have, but she felt proud to have killed him; proud to have been able to swing the blade with the momentum that carried all of her hate, and her longing for retribution.

Arielle had to remind herself to breathe, for it appeared her natural bodily functions had ceased to work after the news that one Grey Warden was going to die the following day.

However, it had recently come to light that there were in fact three Grey Wardens that existed in Ferelden; Riordan had been imprisoned by Loghain and Arl Howe, the same man who had attacked Highever and killed Arielle's family, in the prisons of the Arl of Denerim's estate.

She'd enjoyed separating the traitorous Arl's head from the rest of his body, savouring the sweet taste of revenge as it burned through her veins. Before she'd ended his life once and for all, she'd run him through with her sword five times: once for her father, once for her mother, once for her sister-in-law, once for her nephew, and once for everyone else that Howe's men had murdered that night. And then she'd sunk to her knees on the stone floor swimming with blood, and wept. Ever since Duncan had taken her to Ostagar, she'd been so preoccupied with the trials and tribulations of becoming a Grey Warden, and then the fate of the land resting on her and Alistair's shoulders, that she hadn't spared any time to grieve. She'd hated herself for it, hated how hard-hearted she had been to simply push aside the fact that her family had just been slaughtered.

Riordan had insisted that he be the one to kill the Archdemon as he was the oldest and didn't have much longer before the taint in his blood brought his life to an end.

Alistair stood there gaping at him while Arielle's entire world swiftly came crashing down around her. If Riordan failed, she would have to do it. She would have to kill the Archdemon, and in the process, kill herself. She wasn't going to let Alistair do it. No, he was far too important to the rest of Ferelden, whereas she was… expendable.

"In the event that you fail," she said to Riordan, "I shall deal the final blow."

"No!" Alistair grabbed hold of her wrist and spun her around to look at him. "No, I can't let you do that."

"You can't do it, Alistair. You're meant to be king. Ferelden needs you."

"I didn't even want to be king!"

"Look," Arielle put her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to get him to calm down. "You are going to be king, Alistair. And a fine king you will be!" She smiled reassuringly at him, "which is why I must destroy the Archdemon if Riordan does not."

She'd never seen such genuine sorrow in Alistair's eyes since they'd woken up in Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds to learn that Dunan, King Cailan and the rest of the Grey Wardens were dead. He bowed his head in defeat.

"Get some rest," Riordan said. "Tomorrow will be upon us soon. You need all of your strength for the coming battle."

Arielle swept wordlessly past Alistair, reluctant to get into an emotion-fuelled argument with him about martyrdom and suicide missions. He didn't call to her as she walked out of Riordan's chamber, but stayed behind to discuss more about the logistics of the final battle with him. Arielle didn't want to hear any more. As far as she was concerned, the matter had been settled and there was nothing left to consider.

She wandered down the stone hallways, navigating her way around as best she could, avoiding asking anyone for directions. Redcliffe castle wasn't particularly large, or rather, not as large as her home at Highever had been, but she still found herself getting lost, going down passages that lead to dead ends or laundry rooms piled high with dirty clothes.

Her mind was elsewhere. She dreaded the conversation she would have with the woman she loved so intensely at some point that eve; it was inevitable. She had no idea how to broach the subject at all, let alone inform her that tomorrow she may die. Of course, there was the threat of death anyway, as with all battles, but even if she did survive the preliminary fights, the Archdemon would not die unless she did, too. She believed in Riordan, in his strength, but he was planning on confronting the beast alone, and she couldn't help but think he was being utterly foolish and unwisely rash. He would not be swayed, either. She'd already requested she accompany him, but he'd declined, unwilling to unnecessarily endanger anyone else but himself.

Arielle, staring down at her feet as she walked, did not see Isolde heading towards her and very nearly bumped into her. "Apologies, my Lady," she said as she passed, catching the blonde's repugnant scowl tossed in her direction. Isolde blamed her for her son's death, which had been deliberately accidental. Arielle had had to choose between using forbidden blood magic to enter the Fade and destroy the demon that possessed him, or simply kill the boy. She had intended to use the blood magic, despite her reservations, but the demon had attacked her outside of the Fade, leaving her with no choice but to kill the demon, taking the boy with it. Isolde had been distraught, having lost her son and with her husband, Arl Eamon, still ailed by some unknown disease that kept him bedridden in a state of comatose, she had no one. When Arielle and her companions had retrieved the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the one thing that could cure Eamon, and had, she'd been grateful, but she'd never been able to be pleasant to Arielle knowing she had killed her Connor, her only child.

When she finally found her room, Arielle saw Morrigan standing at the hearth, the flames of the fire roaring ferociously and spreading an orange-yellow glow over her lean figure. Morrigan was the woman who held her heart, and had done ever since their first encounter in the Korcari Wilds, before she'd even become a Grey Warden. Of course, Morrigan had not felt the same way at that point, for she had been angered by her and her fellow initiates' encroachment on what she'd claimed as _her_ territory. Arielle knew she was impossible, and rude, and uncaring, and offensive. But she also knew she was incredibly brave, and wise, and witty, and loyal. And Arielle loved her dearly; sometimes more than she thought was possible. And she knew, though the mage didn't show it often, that she loved her in return. In fact, a few nights ago, when velveteen blackness had descended upon the companions and they'd set up camp, Arielle had been sitting beside Morrigan by her campfire, and Morrigan had expressed her feelings on 'love'. The woman, usually so stoic and cold, had seemed almost frightened by such a prospect, viewing it as a weakness in character. Arielle had shared her opinion on the matter, and Morrigan had listened carefully, nodding when appropriate, and then, afterwards, she'd kissed Arielle with such passion, such tenderness, that she knew almost straight away that that- it was love.

"Do not be alarmed, it is only I," the witch said, somewhat woodenly. Given the rapport between them both, Arielle would not have been alarmed in the slightest, so it was strange for her to assume so. When she didn't receive a reply, Morrigan turned around, slight concern flitting across her face. "What troubles you?"

Arielle closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, silently begging the Maker for some absurd miracle to occur in the next ten hours so that a majestic bolt of lightning might shoot down from the heavens and kill the Archdemon. Wishful thinking, she knew. "I am just… anxious, for the battle tomorrow. Everything has happened so suddenly, I can barely come to terms with it all."

"No," Morrigan moved closer to Arielle, staring at her curiously, as though she was searching for something she'd lost. "That is not all that bothers you. It is knowing that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed in order to slay the Archdemon, isn't it?"

Arielle's stomach churned violently, her eyes widening in horror as she took a step backwards. "You… you knew about this?" Tears began blurring her vision, obscuring Morrigan's face, and she was helpless to stop them. It was an emotional time, and she found during such times, tears would flow even at the most inconsequential thing. She turned away, unable to look at her, let alone look at her when she was crying. "You knew all along and you didn't care to tell me?"

"How was I meant to know you had not been informed until now? I simply assumed that you had. I may be a mage but I cannot read minds! Do not blame me for something your fellow Grey Wardens forgot to explain to you," the witch snapped, losing all trace of gentleness in her voice; if there had been any there to begin with. "I am not responsible for what information the merry band of demon-killers withheld upon your joining."

"I could die tomorrow," said Arielle, unable to conceal the waver as she spoke. "Does that not bother you? Do you even care for me at all? Or were those nights of lovemaking in your tent purely to sate your sexual appetite?"

"I…" Morrigan seemed slightly taken aback by the Warden's words, furrowing her brow. "No, that's…" She paused, stiffening her jaw as if to regain her hardened composure. "I offer you a way out."

It was Arielle's turn to furrow her brow, then. "A… 'way out'?"

Morrigan nodded, folding her arms across her chest and conspicuously accentuating her cleavage. Whatever hurt or concern that had been lingering in her ochre eyes had dissipated, matching that of her newly transitioned bearing. "A loop in your hole…"

"And how did you come to know of this ritual? Of the sacrifice?"

"I know many things," the witch drawled, a smug smirk forming on her lips, "some useful, some… not so useful."

"Just…" Arielle raised a hand to stop Morrigan from continuing. "Just stop! Do not speak in riddles to me; I am in neither the mood nor the mental state to be capable of deciphering them."

There had been a time when the older woman's games and riddles were endearing to her, but now Arielle felt a sense of betrayal, of hurt. She was so close to breaking down, and the one thing she needed at that time was to be held in a gentle, loving embrace. Morrigan would not give her that, and she never could.

The mage looked hurt for the briefest of moments, but Arielle didn't care. She wasn't the one with a death sentence hanging above her head. "How I know such things is irrelevant. What I am offering you… that is what is important. There need be no sacrifice."

Arielle didn't trust herself to speak, for fear of unleashing the tears she was strongly holding back, so nodded for her to continue. "The ritual must be performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night." Seeing Arielle's eyebrow twitch, she presumed the young Warden wished to know more of the ritual's origins, the magic from which it would stem. "It is old magic, so old, in fact, that it is from a time before the Circle of Magi ever existed. Some… some say it is blood magic, but… you should not fear it. It may present the solution between life and death." She paused, giving Arielle chance to ask her any questions. When she didn't, Morrigan continued. "A child must be conceived – one that bears the taint. When the Archdemon is slain, its essence shall seek out the child… like a beacon, if you will. At this early stage, the child can absorb the essence and survive while the Archdemon is still destroyed, and no Grey Wardens die in the process."

Arielle swallowed, the lump in her throat incredibly uncomfortable. "And- what of the child? Will it become… a Darkspawn?"

"No, it shall become something entirely different; a child born with the soul of an Old God."

"And what will become of you when you are… with child?"

Morrigan averted her gaze, drawing in a weary breath. "After the battle, I will leave. And you shan't follow."

The breath caught in Arielle's throat and she shrunk back, horrified. She felt as though a sword had just pierced through her heart and everything seemed to stop after the words came out of the witch's mouth. The tears began to spill down her cheeks in glistening rivulets, displaying every ounce of her vulnerability to the cold-hearted woman standing before her.

Her world had been crashing down before, but now: now her world ceased to exist. Even if she lived, she was going to be without the woman she loved, and it would be with the knowledge that the woman she loved had lain with another on the eve before the final battle. It selfishly pained her heart, because she knew that Morrigan did not belong to her, was not bound to her, to love her, for eternity. "No," she said firmly, surprising even herself with the resolve in her voice. "No. I won't consent to this."

Morrigan appeared genuinely shocked by Arielle's refutation, her eyes swimming with incredulity and her blinks rapid, as if trying to process what she'd said. "What?"

"I said I won't agree to the ritual." Arielle had never seen Morrigan so stunned before; usually she was superbly calm and collected, even in the face of battle. Even when faced with petrifying abominations and monsters like the Broodmother and the demonised Uldred.

"I'm offering this for _you_! So you can live!" she cried, her disbelieving tone slowly becoming one of anger. Typical of her, Arielle thought, to throw a tantrum when things didn't go her way.

"I do not see the point in living if I am forced to be without you… Why must you leave?"

"I cannot stay with you. I desperately wish that I could, but… I must raise this child _alone_." To Arielle's surprise, the witch grew gentler, placing her hands on her shoulders. The gesture, although solicitous, made no difference to her decision.

"I can't do it," Arielle said, though it barely came out as a whisper.

She felt numb. She felt heartbroken.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, fury flaring. "Then you are more foolish than I first thought!"

For a few moments, Arielle simply stood there staring numbly into the mage's enraged eyes, before raising her hand and slapping her sharply across the cheek. Blinking, she snatched her hand back suddenly, as if realising what she'd just done and stepped towards her. "My apologies, I didn't mea-"

She gasped as the wind rushed out of her lungs upon impact with the hard stone wall, courtesy of Morrigan. Her amber eyes held such ire that Arielle could only gaze helplessly back, unable to reach for the dagger tied to her waist. She could do nothing as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, falling in light patters on the stone floor.

And then Morrigan's lips were pressed against her own, again and again, each time deeper, more ardent than the last. There was an edge of hunger, a craving, which both women intended to satisfy; _needed_ to satisfy. As Arielle's hands ran from Morrigan's hip, up to the clasp of her robe sitting adjacent to her breast, the mage pulled away.

When Arielle opened her eyes again to inquire if anything was wrong, why she'd stopped, the room was empty.

A fresh wave of anguished despair washed over her, and she slid down to the floor, resting her head in her hands and simply sobbed.

She wept unaccompanied, until Wynne found her and folded her into her arms, cradling her and soothing her. The wise old mage, who had become to cherish Arielle like a daughter, hummed her favourite lullabies softly in her ear.

When the tears had finally subsided, Wynne tucked her into bed and stayed by her side until morn.

* * *

Denerim had been turned from a city of wealth and royalty to a burning inferno of death and destruction. Darkspawn crawled all over, trampling the dead bodies of their own and of the defenceless citizens that once dwelled there, filling the air with their bloodcurdling roars and shrieks. The Archdemon, a beast of magnificent malevolence, soared high above the battlefield breathing hellish purple flames. Its barbed tail whipped soldiers from balconies and bridges as though they were light as feathers, sending them high into the air before they plummeted to their death.

Morrigan had taken her leave, unwilling to participate in the battle. Her actions had stung Arielle directly in her heart, shattering it into pieces beyond repair.

She would not cry today, she'd told herself. She would be strong, for her comrades needed her. She would not let them down under any circumstance.

As soon as she'd slipped her helmet over her auburn hair, she blocked out her emotions; her troubles; and was ready to slaughter any Darkspawn that dared to stand in her way.

At the gates, the first waves of Genlocks and Hurlocks had been dispatched with surprising ease. Those with swords and shields engaged them first, while those with magic or bows and arrows aided from a distance. Arielle never could decide which she preferred. Swords were fun, and brutal, especially when duel-wielded, but the thrill of an arrow striking a target in its pinpointed weak spot certainly was equally enjoyable, if not more so.

After the city gates had been cleared, Riordan had informed Arielle that there were two generals that, if hunted down and killed, might provide them with an advantage over the opposing army. However, he'd instructed her to only take three companions with her, and requested that those she didn't choose stay to defend the outer gates.

Arielle did not want to choose. She wanted them all to accompany her. She feared that those she chose would be angry with her for putting their lives in danger, and those she did not choose would be angry for not doing so.

"Wynne, Leliana, Shale," she said, "I want you to come with me."

"_It_ has chosen wisely," the raspy-voiced golem piped up.

When Arielle turned to say farewell to the rest of the group, knowing that it was probable she might not ever see them again, Alistair was gazing at her with mournful eyes akin to a lost puppy.

"Let me come with you," he said, his eyes glistening with what Arielle could only think were tears. She'd never seen him cry before. She didn't want him to cry, it would make her cry, too. She'd cried enough as it were. She probably didn't have any tears left in her.

"No," she said firmly, but gently, if such was even possible. "You need to stay here. You're going to be king when this is all over; I don't want you dying before you've even put that crown on."

"I…" All of a sudden, he looked immensely guilty. "I love you, you know that, right? I know, I know, you don't feel the same, but I just… I just wanted you to know. Be careful out there, Arielle. Please."

She bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to stop herself from tearing up, but it was to no avail. She crossed the space between them and hugged him fiercely. "You're going to make an excellent king," she whispered.

He smiled. "Thank you."

The other farewells were relatively brief, but each one leaving an imprint on Arielle's tattered heart that she would remember for as long as she lived.

The first general they took down was roaming about the Market District, while the other had taken up refuge in the Elven Alienage. A few elves, armed with archery equipment had offered to help, but Arielle had instructed them to find somewhere safe. The bridge from the Alienage was a perfect route for the Darkspawn hordes, and Arielle had called on the help of the Dwarven soldiers to help defend. Soon, with minimal casualties, Arielle and her three companions were running across the bridge towards the palace district. Just as they had reached the end and were at the gate, the Archdemon swooped down and obliterated the bridge, preventing them from going back.

The fight through Fort Drakon, where Riordan had said he would lure the Archdemon, was rather tasking, but still Arielle and her team managed to survive. Wynne's healing was exceedingly valuable, and Arielle admired the woman's strength for not only healing herself, but everyone else, too.

Multitudes of dead Darkspawn later, they were standing at the doors that lead onto the roof where the Archdemon would be waiting for them. Arielle drew in ragged breaths, sweat-soaked and utterly exhausted, silently sending up a prayer to the Maker that her friends made it out alive where she might not. Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder, her kind smile uplifting in a time of such anguish.

"We're here for you," she said, her Orlesian accent something that Arielle would sorely miss. "And whatever happens, know that you are a great friend."

When the doors opened, soldiers were charging the black dragon; the spines of its body glinting with its movement, but the beast merely knocked them aside with its tail or set them alight with its fire.

Riordan was nowhere in sight. The large tear in one of the dragon's wings must have been his doing, though he had not succeeded in finishing the job.

Arielle called upon the Dalish elf army to aid them, and they formed a wide circle around the battleground. Arrows rained down upon the Archdemon and its minions, while Wynne began flinging balls of fire and bolts of lightning, Shale stomped straight into the middle and started pummelling the dragon's legs, and Arielle and Leliana joined the elves and fired arrows from afar.

Halfway into the battle Arielle left Leliana's side and ran for the ballista that was sitting on a raised platform on the edge of the roof. Hurriedly, she heaved it around, aiming it straight at the demon, and fired. Once, twice, three times.

It seemed like hours until the Archdemon began to tire; its wounds far too severe for it to maintain its strong offensive, and Arielle saw her chance. Wynne, Shale and Leliana were caught up fighting their way out of a swarm of Shrieks and Genlocks, and so she charged straight for it. She leapt down from the platform, stumbling with both her exhaustion and the weight of her armour and weaponry on her back, and then sprinted towards it. It had its back turned to her, its tail flailing wildly as it tried to defend itself from the arrows flying through the air. There came a point when it lowered its tail to the ground as it unleashed a stream of flames from its maw, and in an instant Arielle had scrambled up onto its back and flung herself at its neck. She thrust her sword through its flesh with every last drop of strength, its piercing scream of pain deafening to her ears. As its body began to writhe in agony, Arielle lost her grip on the sword's handle and tumbled off. The ground came up to meet her rapidly, and she cried out in pain as she landed heavily on her left arm. Her head was pounding, and her vision blurred violently. Dizziness began to take hold on her and she thought she was going to vomit. The ground shook as the Archdemon collapsed, and as Arielle lay there, she looked for her companions to check they were still alive. Figures were barely discernible, and she thought she saw someone emerge from inside the Fort but couldn't distinguish their face. Concluding that her mind was playing tricks on her, she silently said goodbye to the world as her vision melted away and everything faded to black.

* * *

When she awoke, she was lying in an infirmary. What on earth she was doing there, she didn't know. She'd killed the Archdemon, and when a Grey Warden killed an Archdemon they suffered the same fate. She didn't understand.

Sitting up abruptly, she saw Alistair, Wynne and Leliana huddled at the foot of her bed, engaged in deep conversation. It was so deep in fact; they failed to notice her stirring and continued talking in hushed voices.

"I'm supposed to be dead," she said, her voice hoarse. Her arm was in a cotton sling, resting across her stomach and a wound to her shoulder had been covered with a cloth treated with poultice. "Why is that not so?"

Alistair had the same guilty look as he had done when the group separated at the city gates. He said something to Wynne and Leliana which Arielle couldn't quite catch, and then moved to sit in the chair at her side. "I… um, I… have something to tell you," he said, folding his lips into a thin line, "and, well, you're not going to like it."

"Go on."

He drew in a long breath, clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. "Morrigan came to me last night and told me about her ritual, and about how you'd refused to let her go ahead with it and how you were intent on striking the final blow to the Archdemon so it'd kill you."

Arielle's jaw fell open. She didn't need anything else explaining to her, she was able to piece together what was going on.

"You've figured it out, haven't you?" said Alistair. "Maker's breath, please understand, Arielle. I didn't want you to die, and neither did Morrigan. She _begged_ me to go forth with this ritual thing. _Begged_! _Morrigan_! She told me she couldn't bear to see you die along with the Archdemon. And I apologise for going behind your back and… well, betraying you in more ways than one, but honestly, Arielle, I didn't want you to die. You know how I feel about you, and yes, it may have clouded my judgement but I believe I did the right thing. And you know how I feel about her; if there had been any other way that didn't involve… _that_, you know I would have gone for it. I'd much rather you were alive and hated me than... than dead. I… she asked me to give you this." He reached into his boot and pulled out a folded piece of parchment with '_Arielle_' scrawled across the front and handed it to her.

Stunned into silence, Arielle took it mutely and carefully unfolded it. Three words were written on the page in the same handwriting as on the front.

_Forgive me, love. _


	2. Chapter 2

Arielle sighed, closing her eyes as she folded the piece of parchment back up, willing herself not to dissolve into tears again. Without another word to Alistair, she slid out of the bed clothed in a tunic that was long enough to be a dress, and walked briskly out of the infirmary. A dull throbbing in her side and a slight sting in her thigh alerted her to the fact that she had not escaped the battle with as few injuries as she'd initially thought.

"Arielle, wait." The voice did not belong to Alistair, but to Wynne. She'd stopped, having barely taken three steps out of the infirmary door, contemplating where she could go, when the mage placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your wounds are still healing, you need to rest."

"It was her, wasn't it?" Arielle turned around to meet her serene gaze, "on the roof, just after I'd slain the Archdemon. The person I saw run out from Fort Drakon – it was her."

Wynne nodded soberly, "she was panicked; terrified she hadn't arrived in time. Thankfully she did, hence the fact that you're standing here perfectly alive. After you had fallen unconscious the Archdemon seemed to… I'm not sure- explode, I suppose. I remember being catapulted backwards, and for a short while some strange force was holding me down. When I was able to stand up again, she'd gone."

She motioned towards Alistair, who had propped his elbows up on the side of her bed and was resting his head in his hands. "I refuse to lie back in that bed with him sitting at my side. Please dismiss him or find somewhere else for me to stay." She knew she was acting rotten and being insufferably rude, but she wasn't in any mood to care.

"There is a room being readied for you as we speak," said Wynne, apparently unfazed by the young woman's coarse attitude. "I have arranged for the maid that will attend to you to come and inform us when it is finished."

It was at least an hour before Arielle's maid, a skeletal, dark-haired elf who couldn't have been much older than fourteen, came to escort her to her room. The Royal Palace appeared to be the only place in the capital that had somehow managed to evade annihilation from the Darkspawn. She didn't pay attention to where they were going, only vaguely aware that they had walked up three flights of stone staircases and gone down countless winding passages.

"This is your room, my Lady," said the maid, who had introduced herself to Arielle as Yinari. "If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask."

Arielle studied her chamber, thinking it very similar in layout to her old room at Highever. The four-poster bed took up the majority of floor space, while a dressing table rested against the eastern wall, and an armoire stood against the wall opposite. An armour and a weapon stand holding her equipment were tucked into the far left-hand corner, and Yinari notified her that in the chest behind the door were some clean clothes for her to wear as she saw fit.

"Dinner will be served shortly," the petite elf said. "I'll come back and take you down to the dining hall after you've settled in."

Arielle mumbled her thanks as the door closed, rendering the room eerily silent. She cast the parchment she'd inadvertently crumpled down on the dressing table and rifled through the chest, picking out a pale blue dress with white lace decoration on the bodice and sleeves. She hadn't worn a dress for so long. Her mother always pestered her to wear dresses when they had company at the castle, but she never did, always more comfortable in her armour and with a sword or bow sheathed on her back. She was going to honour her mother by wearing that dress, she decided, though unsure how well she could pull it off with her arm in a sling and a large gash on her shoulder that would be hard to conceal. But first and foremost, she needed to wash the blood, sweat and tears from her body.

She opened the door, noticing Yinari standing to one side, evidently waiting for further instruction from her. "May I bathe?" she asked her.

"Certainly, my Lady," Yinari replied. "Follow me."

Yinari lead her down the hallway, past various other chambers – to whom they belonged Arielle didn't know – and then down a staircase illuminated by flaming torches on either side. Every passage looked exactly the same: made of pale grey stone and with assorted drapes and banners hanging from the ceiling, all bearing the Denerim royal seal printed in gold. The vast washroom was a pleasant change from the various rivers and lakes Arielle had washed herself in during her travels over Ferelden, and there were three square pools of water treated with herbs steaming gently, emanating a wonderful aroma. Lavender, she guessed, when she inhaled slowly.

"Am I to wash you, my Lady?" asked Yinari, standing at the ready with a pale sponge in her hand.

"No, thank you," she replied. She'd never had someone else wash her before, not even when she was living at Highever. She found it not only lazy to have someone else do it but also somewhat degrading for the servant who performed such a task. "Could you help me slip my tunic over my arm?"

"Of course, my Lady." With gentle, steady hands, Yinari lifted the tunic up, slipping the sleeve over Arielle's broken arm with barely a touch, and then pulling it over her head with ease. She kept her eyes level with Arielle's neck, for she no longer had anything covering her breasts or womanhood, and handed her the sponge. "If you wet the sling I can fetch you a dry one," she said. "The First Enchanter offered to mend the break for you after his mana had replenished."

Arielle stepped down into the warm water, the minor cuts on her legs stinging all at once, before submerging herself completely. When the pain of the water rushing into her wounds had abated, she ran the sponge over her skin with her good arm, making sure not to miss even the smallest area. She wanted to rid herself of every speck of dirt and blood.

When she was finished, Yinari wrapped a long, thick cloth around her naked form to dry her and so she wasn't putting her private places on display for everyone they might pass on the way back to her chamber. She hadn't felt so clean in a very long while.

She followed Yinari back to her room, paying attention this time to the route they took, deciding she may be a frequent visitor to the baths. The little maid then promptly went to seek out the First Enchanter and bring him to Arielle so that he could fix her arm before she attempted to get into her dress.

Irving entered her room with a warm smile and looking to be in a lot better shape than after the events of the Circle Tower. Evidently Darkspawn were a doddle in comparison to frenzied blood mages and abominations.

He dealt with the gash on her shoulder first, and then the one on her side, before mending the break in her arm. Grateful that she no longer had to wear the sling, she thanked him profusely. He insisted it was no trouble; thanking her for saving Ferelden and for keeping Wynne safe, to which she blushed furiously. He kindly waited outside while she dressed so he could walk with her to the dining hall. Yinari tied the brace at the back of the bodice for her, and retrieved a pair of light blue pumps to match the dress from the chest.

When they entered the dining hall, nearly every head turned in Arielle's direction, and to honour her feats in battle, everyone started clapping. Smiling timidly at her noble welcome, she followed Irving over to the largest of the four long oak dining tables that filled the room. Alistair was sitting at the head next to his soon-to-be wife, but instead of his eyes being on her, they were on Arielle. She refused to look at him.

Irving sat down next to Wynne, while Leliana waved her over to an empty seat in between her and Oghren. Glad to be among friends, Arielle sat down.

"You look so pretty!" exclaimed Leliana, beaming. She too was wearing a dress, made of mauve satin that shimmered with her every movement. The front of it was embellished with crystals, and the tapered sleeves were embroidered with silver thread at the hem in intricate patterns. "I've never seen you in a dress before. You should have seen Alistair's expression when you walked in – his eyes nearly popped out of his head!"

Arielle forced a smile, reaching forwards for a roasted drumstick from the platter of assorted foods in the middle of the table. Oghren had already devoured three and was onto his fourth, splitting up bites with swigs from his goblet of wine. She presumed that was probably his fourth, too. Sweeping her gaze down the table, she recognised more than a few familiar faces: Sten, Zevran, Arl Eamon, Arlessa Isolde, Bann Teagan, Bann Sighard, Bann Alfstanna, Lanaya, and Mithra. On the other tables there were various other noblemen and women among high-ranking soldiers and guards, some of whom Arielle recognised, while others she'd never come across in her life. She smiled when she caught sight of Bodahn Feddic and Sandal sitting on the furthest table across the room, laughing and chatting merrily with the guards that surrounded them. She found it heart-warming that so many people from so many different backgrounds could sit together without discrimination or prejudice and enjoy each other's company.

"I hear some of the Grey Wardens from Orlais are to arrive here in the next few days," said Leliana. "It's exciting, isn't it?"

"Very," Arielle responded half-heartedly.

"There could be some handsome Orlesian Wardens that take your fancy," Leliana giggled. "Wine?"

She nodded absently as the redhead poured some into her goblet from a large silver pitcher. She didn't want any Orlesian Warden, she wanted Morrigan. If she were to go out and search for her, which would be going against her strict orders not to, she wouldn't even know where to start. But she _would_ go out and search for her. Just not until she'd heard something of her whereabouts. For now, she would try to alleviate her mood and enjoy life now the Blight was over and Ferelden was safe; for now.

When everyone had finished eating, Alistair made a speech to which Arielle didn't particularly pay attention. She heard mention of her name; something to do with her bravery in battle and killing the Archdemon, but took no notice of it. She would forgive him in time, because she knew he'd done it for her and not solely because he wanted to fornicate with her lover, or ex-lover, at that point, but that still didn't lessen the pain she felt in her heart when she thought about them together.

She'd heard he'd postponed the coronation until they were on speaking terms again. She didn't particularly care about that, either.

When it became acceptable to leave, Arielle did, heading straight upstairs to her room. She lay on her bed, thinking about where Morrigan would most likely go in order to get away from… people. She doubted she would go so far as Orlais or Antiva, but she couldn't be sure. She was extremely capricious, so predicting where she might go would be difficult, if not impossible. The Korcari Wilds seemed the obvious one given that she grew up there, but being the most obvious, it was also the most unlikely. Morrigan was smart; she would know that if anyone were to look for her, they'd start there. So, she wouldn't be there. Arielle sighed heavily, staring up at the mahogany ceiling of the four-poster, hoping that some writing may suddenly appear on the wood and give her a clue as to where she ought to begin her search. Nothing, as she'd expected. Wishful thinking, yet again. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, scouring her mind for some sort of idea.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door and Yinari poked her head around. "My Lady, there is someone here to see you," she said.

"Who is it?"

Yinari smiled, "I think you may want to come and see for yourself, my Lady."

Puzzled, Arielle stood from the bed and walked over to the door. Flinging it wide open, and seeing who was standing on the other side, her jaw dropped to the floor.

"Fergus!" she cried, hurling herself at him and almost knocking him off balance.

"My dearest little sister," he chuckled, the sound of his voice a comfort to Arielle. It reminded her of home. "Saviour of Ferelden – I can scarcely believe it!"

"I had help. I could never have done it by myself," she said, blushing. "Oh brother, I'm so pleased you're here. I've missed you terribly."

"As have I, Ari," he said. "I feared you'd perished along with everyone else at Highever…" He looked deeply sad, then. He'd not only lost his mother and father, but his wife and only son, too. Arielle couldn't imagine the grief he must have felt upon hearing the news, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I felt a strong sense of hope when I caught wind that someone of your physical description was travelling around Ferelden to gather an army against the Blight. I knew Duncan had arrived at Highever hoping to recruit you, though father was convinced he was there for Ser Gilmore; he didn't want to let you go. You may have been nineteen going on twenty at that point but in his eyes you were still his little girl." He smiled, taking a lock of her auburn hair in his fingers. "And look at you now! You've grown so much since I last saw you."

In truth, it had only been seven months since they'd seen each other, but so much had happened in those months that it felt much, much longer. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes indicative of that. His dark hair was longer, and although clean, hadn't been brushed for a while and fell in matted, straggly wisps around his face. His moustache and goatee had grown out into a rather large beard that gave him the appearance of a man at least ten years older than his true age. Underneath it all, though, was the Fergus that Arielle knew and loved.

"Are you to stay here?" she asked.

He nodded. "For now, yes. I have made arrangements to travel back to Highever in four days. I am to be Teyrn."

"You do not seem overjoyed about that, brother," said Arielle with a smile. "Is it because you must attend to your duties as ruler instead of running around with a shield on your arm and a sword in your hand?"

"Yes, something similar to that," he laughed. Then he drew her into a tight hug. "It's getting late, Ari. I hear you were out cold for at least a day after the battle – you should rest. And tomorrow, I wish to hear about all of your adventures!"

"Of course," Arielle said, grinning. Boy, did she have _a lot_ to tell him. "Goodnight brother, sleep well."

* * *

Even though the Archdemon was well and truly dead, it still somehow managed to haunt Arielle in her dreams. As soon as she'd lull into a state of sleep, its startling, piercing white eyes would invade her head, and its shrill, hellish scream would ring agonizingly in her ears. She'd wake up with a start, breathing rapidly and with cold beads of sweat trickling down her spine, afraid to go back to sleep.

She got out of bed, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold and cautiously shuffled her way across to the door which had a faint yellow light filtering underneath the frame. As she opened the door she saw Wynne standing there, her hand raised, poised to knock. The mage's lips curved into a warm smile. "Impeccable timing," she said. "Is everything all right, dear? I heard you cry out."

"I had a nightmare," said Arielle. "I can't sleep."

"Come, child," Wynne took hold of Arielle's elbow and lead her out into the hallway. "I'll make you some herbal tea."

* * *

"How are you settling in?" asked Wynne as she took the pot from the stove and poured its contents into two small ceramic mugs.

"Fine, thank you," replied Arielle, "although, I would like to know if there is anywhere in the palace where I could practice my archery."

"Yes," said Wynne, handing the younger woman one of the cups filled with hot tea. She sat down opposite her at the kitchen table where the servants would eat and prepare food on. "There is a range inside on this floor. Perhaps I'll take you there once you've finished your tea."

Arielle nodded, blowing gently on the liquid. She wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't in the mood to make conversation.

"You miss her," the old woman observed, smiling benevolently. "At the moment your feelings, your emotions, are unrefined and swirling around you like fallen leaves in the midst of a tempest… you feel angry, upset, and you want to break down and cry and wail until your throat is red raw." She paused to sip her tea. "Heartbreak is strange – it causes so much pain and distress and yet there is no injury on our body. You don't want to think about her because of the fresh hurt it triggers when you do, but you can't help it. One moment you grieve for the loss, yearn for her, and the next you're angry at her for leaving you. Eventually you'll be able to acknowledge your sadness and then move onto accepting the loss without feeling the pain associated with it."

Arielle sipped her tea quietly for a moment, processing what Wynne was saying. "Have you…?"

"Ever had my heart broken?" Wynne suggested. Arielle nodded shyly. "A long time ago, yes," she smiled. "I'd recently been promoted to an Enchanter at the Circle Tower, teaching creation magic, such as healing and conjuring glyphs and such. One of my fellow Enchanters, Casio, developed an interest in me that overstepped our professional boundaries. At first, I didn't really reciprocate his feelings, but slowly, the more time I spent with him I found myself falling deeper and deeper in love with him. He made me laugh, and he had a charm that was utterly irresistible. The Circle would often overlook mage-mage relationships; it was only a problem if a Templar or member of the Chantry embarked upon a romance with a mage – they were likely to condone rule-breaking and possibly even encourage it. So he and I were together for quite sometime, and it wasn't a secret amongst our colleagues. It was wonderful, for a while, until one day Greagoir uncovered a conspiracy that Casio happened to be caught up in. He and three others were planning on breaking into the Tower basement to destroy their phylacteries and flee from the Circle. I felt horribly betrayed; mainly because he'd never mentioned anything to me, and because he obviously didn't care for me otherwise he wouldn't have arranged to leave the Circle, to leave me. I only spoke to him once afterwards, when he'd been made Tranquil, and though I knew he wouldn't understand, wouldn't be able to feel any reaction to the words I spoke, I shouted at him, scolded him, unleashed the anger I was feeling on him. And then afterwards I simply went to my chamber and cried. It took me a few weeks to adjust, but eventually I began to feel less and less pain until I didn't feel any, anymore."

"I'm sorry," said Arielle, her brow furrowing.

"Oh no," Wynne chuckled. "Don't be. Any bad feelings I had about it have long since faded. I just wanted to let you know you're not alone in this, and if you ever want to speak to me, I'm always here to listen."

Arielle smiled before finishing the last few mouthfuls of tea left in her mug. She was feeling tired again, and yawned. "Thank… you…" she said groggily as she slowly toppled forwards against the edge of the table, her eyes closing. She realised that Wynne must have slipped something into her tea just as the arms of slumber wrapped themselves around her.


	3. Chapter 3

When she awoke the following morning, having slept solidly and dreamlessly for the remainder of the night, Arielle could only laugh. Wynne, of all people, had drugged her. _Sneaky old mage,_ she thought, _evidently she's more of a trickster than she looks_.

She didn't know the time; there was a distinct lack of windows in the castle; so didn't know how long she'd been asleep for. Someone must have taken her back to her room because the last place she remembered being was in the kitchen. She treaded carefully as she crossed her room in the darkness, being careful not to bump into anything, and felt around for the chest full of her clothes. Her hand brushed against the brass handle and she pulled it open. Somehow, in the dark, she managed to fish out a sage dress that wasn't as showy as the blue one she'd worn the previous night, but would do for wandering around in the daytime. It had short sleeves that were puffed out at the shoulders, and the brace was at the front of the bodice, the thread used to lace it together criss-crossing down to her waist.

When she emerged, having successfully tied the brace herself, Yinari was waiting by the door. "I'm afraid you slept through breakfast, my Lady. I would have woken you but I was under strict orders not to," she said quickly. "I can prepare something for you in the kitchens, if you wish."

Arielle smiled; the little elf looked scared. "That won't be necessary, but thank you. I shall wait until luncheon. I'm not particularly hungry at the minute."

"Very well, my Lady," said Yinari, nodding. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Have you any idea where my brother is?"

"In the armoury cleaning his armour," Yinari replied. "One of the servants offered to do it for him but he insisted on doing it himself. Would you like me to take you there?"

"Please."

When Arielle went into the armoury Fergus was sitting at one of the workbenches, cloth in hand, with his cuirass in front of him. He was clean-shaven, and his hair had been combed properly so it looked long and smooth and soft. Arielle thought the longer hairstyle suited him, though she did miss his moustache and goatee.

"Good morning, Ari. I trust you had a pleasant night's sleep?" there was a hint of amusement in his voice; clearly Wynne's trickery was now common knowledge throughout the palace after her absence in the dining hall that morning.

She glared at him playfully, occupying the stool on the other side of the bench. "Surprisingly, I did. I trust you did, too?"

"Your friend Alistair allocated me the best guest room in the palace. I haven't slept on a bed so soft in a long, long time," he said, unmindful of her sudden unease at the mention of the fellow Warden's name. She clenched her jaw and looked down into her lap, concerning herself with tugging at the material of her dress. "And look! You're wearing a dress!" He grinned even though she couldn't see it. "Mother would be pleased. They would both be so proud of you, Ari: just as I am."

Arielle looked up at him again, tears pricking her eyes at the memories of their parents and at his moving words. She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, brother." She swallowed hard, blinking away her unshed tears, before saying, "I have come to tell you of my adventures as you requested, but I warn you: we may be here for quite some time."

"Indulge me with your tales, then, little sister!"

And so Arielle launched into her story from the attack at Highever to becoming a Grey Warden, to the Grey Wardens' defeat at Ostagar, to travelling across Ferelden to gather an army against the Blight. She told him of the quests she had to fulfil in order to succeed in getting the aid needed; helping the Dalish with their werewolf problem; assisting the soldiers of Redcliffe in defeating the night-time spirits conjured by the Arl's possessed son; retrieving the Urn of Sacred Ashes to bring Arl Eamon round from his state of comatose; rescuing the mages from the Circle Tower overrun by blood mages and abominations; traversing the Deep Roads in Orzammar in search of the Paragon Branka and discovering her obsession with searching for the Anvil of the Void; being forced to kill her so she wouldn't imprison more souls in the bodies of stone golems; returning to Ostagar and building a pyre for King Cailan's body; reclaiming Soldier's Peak; searching for incriminating evidence against Loghain in the Elven Alienage; the events of the Landsmeet; and finally, she told him of the final battle. He sat and listened intently, completely enthralled by her story and in awe of her adventures. The cloth he'd been holding in his hand had since fluttered into his lap.

When she was finished he dropped his head to one side pensively. "I thought that when a Grey Warden slew an Archdemon they died with it," his eyes twinkled sorrowfully and Arielle assumed it was as a result of imagining if she had truly died. He would have been completely alone; every single member of his immediate family dead. "Perhaps I am mistaken, but… you killed it, did you not? Though of course, I am eternally grateful that you didn't suffer the same fate."

"You aren't mistaken," she said quietly. "There was a…" she took her bottom lip in her teeth. She'd managed to go for some time without crying when she thought of Morrigan, but thinking of Morrigan and the ritual and what she'd done, was just too much. A single tear rolled down her cheek and Fergus reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

"What grieves you, Ari?" he asked.

Arielle decided she may as well tell him of her relationship with Morrigan and what the witch had done in order to save her life. He had been the first to know of her tendency to stray to women's beds as well as men's, and he had neither judged her nor treated her differently. "Morrigan, the mage who saved Alistair and I from the Tower of Ishal, and… my lover, told me of a ritual that could spare me if I were to strike the final blow on the Archdemon. I refused, but…" she sighed sadly as more tears spilled down her cheeks, "she went ahead with it, anyway. And here I am…"

"Where is this conquest of yours? I must thank her for saving my little sister's life!"

"She wasn't simply a conquest, Fergus," she growled through gritted teeth. "I… I love her. And now she's… she's gone."

Fergus dug into the pocket of his cotton breeches and pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to Arielle. "Then she is a fool to leave you."

"She's with child; Alistair's child."

"Then she is even more a fool to deceive you with that boor."

"That was part of the ritual… to keep me from passing on. She had to conceive a child that bore the taint and he was the only one that could…" she dabbed at her eyes, feeling more tears forcing their way out despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. "She told me that she had to raise the child alone. I didn't want to have to live without her… so I told her I didn't want to go through with it..."

"She didn't want you to die, Arielle," said Fergus, his voice soft but assertive. "She probably didn't want to live on without you knowing she could have saved you."

"Oh, so keeping me alive to live without _her_ is a way for her to ease her conscience, then?" she snapped.

"No, no, I don't mean it like that – you know I don't," said Fergus. "What's to stop you from going after her?"

"She told me not to," said Arielle sullenly. "I don't know where she is."

"And if she told you to jump from the top of Fort Drakon, would you?"

Arielle narrowed her eyes at her brother. "No."

"It's settled then. Go and find her!"

* * *

Arielle did not attend supper that night, and instead chose to wander around the palace gardens under the stars. The air was peaceful, and although it was virtually pitch black she could still faintly see the plumes of smoke that rose from the smouldering buildings of the rest of the city that had been set alight by the Darkspawn. They had been silent for some time, and it came as a welcome change. For too long she had been plagued by their whispers, almost driven to the point of insanity as she struggled to sleep at night. Morrigan had sometimes helped her to sleep; either by exhausting her with intimacy or by concocting a sleeping draught for her. But without the whispers she felt vulnerable. She knew the Darkspawn were still out there somewhere and she didn't know if she'd be able to sense them again without the Archdemon alive.

She perched on the lip of the fountain that sat in the centre of the paved courtyard, looking up at the black velvet blanket encrusted with diamonds. "Oh Andraste," she breathed miserably. "Send me a sign. Tell me where she is."

The stars only twinkled back at her, providing her with nothing but fleeting admiration of their prettiness. She sighed, resigned to hopelessness. It would be impossible to find her, she'd concluded, and if she did, who was to say she'd be pleased to see her? The witch might fly into a rage and send her away, and then her journey and efforts would be wasted. Where should she begin? She had no idea.

The sound of footsteps approaching caused her whole body to tense. She'd grown so used to being cautious of everything, of everyone, that she found it hard to switch off. She knew she was safe in the palace grounds, especially since there were swarms of soldiers and guards milling about the place at all hours of the day. She was surprised to see Alistair emerge from the shadows, his features only vaguely visible in the darkness. She turned her head away from him.

"Arielle," he said, stopping a few feet away from her. "Please talk to me. I can't stand this anymore."

When she didn't reply, he took a bold step forwards. "I'll do anything, honestly. I just want us to be friends again, to go back to normal. Can we pretend like this whole thing never happened?"

She snapped her head round, glaring at him with a mixture of incredulity and anger. "Pretend it never happened?" she scoffed in disbelief at what he'd said. "It's all very well for you! You're going to be king, you're going to get married, and you're going to have everything you could ever dream of right at your fingertips. And you would have had all that even if I'd have been killed along with the Archdemon. You took the one thing that I cherished in this godforsaken land!"

"I don't have _everything _I could ever dream of," he murmured. And then he said louder, "we did it for you, to save you. Neither of us wanted you to fight to your certain death."

"To have my heart ripped from my chest," she muttered, "is surely a fate worse than death. To be forced to live without the woman I love, knowing she'd lain with- with you, of all people; _my dearest friend_; is a fate worse than death."

"I can do nothing but apologise, Arielle," he said. "I didn't want to do that with her, ever. Quite frankly, she repulses me. Please, I'll get down on my knees and beg. I'll kiss your feet! I'll do _anything_ to earn your forgiveness." He looked, and sounded, to be on the verge of tears and yet he still managed to somehow incorporate amusement into his words. "Punch me. Right on the nose. Or in the eye. Or the jaw. You know, wherever you prefer. Really hard. It'll make you feel better."

"I don't want to punch you."

"Punch me."

"No."

"Do it! Punch me!"

"No."

"Punch me! Punch me! Punch me! Punch-"

Arielle swung her fist at his jaw, shutting him up and sending him reeling backwards. He almost fell but stuck his left foot behind him to steady himself, his hand reaching up to nurse what would soon form a nice contusion next to his mouth. "You're stronger than you look."

She ignored him, stalking past him and purposefully bashing him with her shoulder as she did. She still didn't feel any better and her knuckles were throbbing.

She needed…

She needed to shoot something.

Retrieving her bow and quiver from her room, she changed out of the dress and into a clean crimson tunic and leather chaps and found a pair of moccasins at the very bottom of the chest. Yinari took her to the range as requested, wisely remaining silent as they walked, sensing the anger radiating from her mistress.

The room was long, and at the far wall stood three large cloth dummies stuffed full of straw that escaped out in yellow wisps from various puncture holes and rips. She notched an arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the dummy's chest. She released, and moments later the arrow was embedded directly in the dummy's chest, right where she'd set her target. She repeated the same process over and over, and when she had no arrows left in her quiver she'd walk to the dummy and yank them out, causing strands of its straw blood to flutter to the floor.

It was hours until she began to grow moderately tired and her bow-arm ached irksomely. She'd dismissed Yinari to the servants' quarters a long time ago, insisting that she could find her way back to her room. She'd lied. She didn't remember the way back.

For a long while she wandered aimlessly around the palace, occasionally crossing the path of a guard or drunk nobleman trying to find his way to the latrines. It was only until she came across a set of stone steps lit by flaming torches that had two long, thin banners hanging at either side of the passage that she knew the way to go. The top floor of the palace was eerily silent; unusual to Arielle, since she'd grown so accustomed to Oghren's deafening snoring polluting the air each night when they slept at camp.

Oh how she missed those nights when they all sat around the campfire, save for Morrigan who kept her distance across the other side, listening to Leliana sing or tell them stories she'd learnt as a bard. Oghren would always drink himself into a stupor, but not before spouting utter nonsense that caused them all to dissolve into fits of laughter. It was those times when Arielle felt a sense of normalcy, and she was allowed to be her real self and not the serious, sober leader that they all looked to for orders and instruction. She was the youngest of them all, and sometimes she liked to actually _be_ the youngest; to be looked after, to learn of things she'd never heard of before.

And then the tears came again, reminding her of the gaping void in her battered and bruised heart. She felt alone. She was without Morrigan, her lover; she was without Alistair, her dearest friend alongside Leliana, the latter of whom had not spoken to her at length since the penultimate eve before the final battle. Yes, she still had Wynne, but Wynne was not with her, then. She'd never shared the same relationship with Sten, Zevran or Oghren as she had with Wynne or Leliana or Alistair, and Shale was… Shale: rock-hard and stone-cold on the outside _and_ the inside.

She needed to feel something aside the pain. She needed something to take it away.

Deathroot. She'd heard of the Chasind using it to induce hallucinations and delirium by ingesting the extracts from its leaves. She'd seen some growing while walking through the gardens before Alistair's interruption. She deposited her bow in her bedroom and navigated her way to the main doors, passing through without inquisition from the guards standing at either side. The visors of their helms were pulled down and they were likely sneakily sleeping on the job. There was a patch of garden where cabbages, onions and potatoes were growing, guarded by a leering scarecrow that's sewn-on button eyes followed her as she passed. Dotted around the edge of the soil, resting against the fence, were three Deathroots. Two of them were fully grown while the other was just a tiny seedling, newly hatched from the confines of the earth. She snatched them up, shaking the soil from their wiry roots, and made her way to the kitchen.

It was empty, as she'd expected, and she set the roots down on the wooden table and combed the cupboards and dressers for a pestle and mortar. She found one eventually, tearing off the leaves of one of the plants and crushing them up into a fine paste that had a sickly green tinge to it. It looked less than appetising but Arielle was in no mood to care. She wasn't in any mood to care that she was probably going about the extraction from the Deathroot leaves entirely incorrectly, either. She retrieved a pewter spoon from one of the drawers in the dresser that sat against the far wall, surrounded by sacks of potatoes and vegetables, and dipped it into the paste. She put it into her mouth, scrunching her face up with the horrific taste, and swallowed, unable to stop herself from gagging. Somehow she managed to keep it down, and, in between bouts of retching she finished all that was in the dish.

At first she felt nothing.

But then, within the blink of her eye she was in the wilderness, surrounded by grassland and trees and sitting beneath the black abyss that was home to the souls of brave, valiant dead warriors and to the Maker and Andraste. Behind her was a tent; her own, she recognised, by the strip of scarlet cloth she'd hung there; a lasting memory of her mother. Scarlet had been her favourite colour.

* * *

Leliana had awoken hungry, in spite of the fact that she'd eaten her weight in chicken at supper, and couldn't stand the horrid ache in her stomach that craved to be filled again. She eased her door open, afraid to wake anyone else, and stepped out into the passageway lit up with flickering and glowing torches. She considered going and checking on Arielle, for she hadn't seen her in the dining hall or any time thereafter, and decided she would once she'd satisfied her starvation. She felt guilty for not having been there for Arielle more in her time of need, but if she were to be honest, she was glad Morrigan had gone behind the young Warden's back. She hadn't wanted to watch her die, either.

When she entered the kitchen, Arielle was sitting on the bench at the table, staring straight ahead of her. If her shoulders hadn't been rising and falling steadily with her breathing, Leliana may have thought her dead. She was utterly still; she didn't even blink. Forgetting her hunger and taking a few cautious steps towards her, the bard reached out and gingerly touched her shoulder. "Arielle, are you all right?"

She blinked, then, turning her head slightly to the side her eyes widening and her face paling as though she'd just seen a ghost. Leliana had seen that expression once before: the moment they'd stepped out onto the roof of Fort Drakon and she'd set her sights on the Archdemon's magnificently malevolent form. She'd known she was going to die, and it had been her worst nightmares come true.

"Morrigan?" she murmured.

Surprise flickered across Leliana's face for a brief moment, catching sight of the pestle and mortar sitting atop the table by Arielle's elbow, and then registering the appearance of the Deathroot. She was hallucinating. She thought she was Morrigan.

And then Arielle's lips crashed onto hers, a sense of desperation clinging to her very being.

The poor, delirious girl thought she was Morrigan.

And Leliana kissed her back, knowing she would regret it for as long as she walked the earth, but couldn't bear to disappoint her. If she refused, Arielle would think it was Morrigan refusing, and her heart was already shredded to pieces and doing that could possibly obliterate it completely, beyond repair.

So she allowed the auburn-haired Warden to pull her backwards, towards the pantry and close the door behind them. She allowed her to lower her gently onto a heap of empty sacks piled up on the floor, and she allowed her to lift off the nightdress she was wearing and cast it aside. She allowed her hands to roam her body, and she allowed her to trail kisses from her cheek, to her neck and to her breasts.

And she, Leliana, allowed herself to be used by Arielle, knowing that it would provide her with a transitory comfort.

She allowed herself to pretend, and tore off the girl's tunic, peeled off the leather chaps, and melded her body against the other.

And she hoped that when the girl awoke the following morning and realised that she was not the person she'd thought she was, she could forgive her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Just a little filler based on the events at the end of the previous chapter, but from Arielle's perspective rather than Leliana's.

* * *

She felt at peace in the wilderness. It was still, quiet, serene. The stars twinkled contentedly high above her, and a gentle breeze left a trail of cool kisses across her bare skin. There were no Darkspawn whispers to be heard; no guttural growls that she could hear echoing in her mind, shivering over her bones. She'd never been able to simply sit and enjoy the silence before. It was like a long lost friend to her. At Highever she'd never really minded the general bustle as she wandered the halls and passages, but ever since completing the Joining she had sorely missed the precious moments of quiet that, until then, she had taken for granted.

She remained like that for some time. Just sitting, enjoying the quiet. She thought of nothing. Her mind was hazy – her thoughts jumbled – so thinking of nothing was a way to avoid having to sift through everything in her head to try and establish some form of stable deliberation. It was easy not to think of anything. It was a calming relief that in one fell swoop exonerated every emotion whirling around her and constantly reminding her that she was alone. And yet, in the wilderness, she didn't feel alone. The blades of grass beneath her tickled at her ankles and although they had neither eyes nor ears, they were company. The zephyr was company, nudging her every so often as if to remind her it was there, and the moon cast a silver mist around her as if to shield her from prying eyes.

She had never felt so alive. She could almost feel it, the life, pulsing through her veins, sullied by the taint. The taint would kill her, slowly, she knew that. Each day she lived, at least seven were shaved off her lifespan. She was a ticking time-bomb, an hourglass; its grains of sand steadily trickling down until there would be no more left; until there would be no more life left in her veins.

She did not flinch when something grazed her shoulder. She did not feel scared. For once in her life, she was completely fearless.

"Arielle, are you all right?"

She knew that voice. Sultry, mellifluous, though unusually gentle. No, it couldn't be. Could it?

She turned her head to the side only very slightly, afraid of what she might see. Afraid of what she might _not_ see.

And in one fell swoop, her thoughts of nothing evaporated, and the haze returned. The breath caught in her throat, all of the blood drained from her face and her heart felt as though it was about to burst out from her chest.

"Morrigan?"

She was standing there, next to her, her hand resting lightly on the curve of her shoulder.

Her.

Morrigan.

Her lover.

Her _love_.

She was there.

Actions spoke louder than words and Arielle was speechless. She lunged forwards, her lips colliding with Morrigan's, her hands grasping hold of her shoulders and pulling her close, afraid that she'd suddenly fade away and she would lose her all over again. She didn't know when she'd risen to her feet but that didn't matter to her, and she pulled the witch backwards, fumbling with the opening of the tent with one hand while the other rested firmly on her shoulder. She tugged the material flap into place, gently lowering them both down onto the bedroll, kissing her fiercely and expressing everything she felt with each. Love, relief, bliss. Her hands sought out the clasp of Morrigan's robes, stripping them from her body and casting them aside. She pressed her lips against her cheek, moving down to her neck, eliciting a gratifying shiver and moan from the mage who clawed at her back and pressed her body against her own. Morrigan's hands worked quickly and within mere moments Arielle's tunic was lifted over her head and her leather chaps torn from her legs. Her hands roved the young Warden's body as though she'd never felt her before, exploring all the exposed, milky white skin tarnished with numerous battle scars. Arielle's fingertips grazed the inside of her thigh and she moved into the touch, arching her hips upwards, impatient and aching for what she was surely going to do.

Arielle surely was.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry it's been so long since my last update! I had some exams, and then I just kinda... had a bit of a chill for ages afterwards. I also apologise this chapter isn't as long as the others. Thanks to all who have reviewed, I really appreciate it!

* * *

Arielle awoke to a blinding headache and burlap itching at her neck. She didn't need to open her eyes to know she wasn't in her own room. There was a small square window some distance away from where she was lying that allowed a clean strip of light through. It was just enough for her to be able to discern her surroundings, discovering that she wasn't in anyone else's room either, and she was actually in the palace kitchen's pantry. What in Andraste's name she was doing there, she didn't know, nor did she know how she got there in the first place. The last thing she remembered was punching Alistair in the face in the courtyard; anything after that was shrouded by a mental fog in her mind, preventing her from grasping at any memories.

In the paltry light she examined the state of herself. Her tunic was hanging off one shoulder, and her chaps had been put on so clumsily that they were back to front. She dreaded to think how messy her hair was.

She was taken by surprise when she heard movement beside her, and whatever, whoever it was, mumbled something incoherent. She squinted through the darkness to see who – it was definitely a 'who'; a female who, at that – it was, and guessed that by the flaming hair and pallid skin, it was Leliana. What in Andraste's name _she_ was doing there, she didn't know, but soon would.

"Leliana," she prodded the sleeping bard, getting more mumbling in response. She prodded her again, but harder the second time. When she didn't respond, she shook her lightly until her eyes opened and she was staring straight into Arielle's own. "What am I doing here, Leliana?"

"I… I don't know," she said. Arielle knew she wasn't telling the truth straight away. For a performer, she was incredibly bad at lying – she might as well have had 'GUILTY' scrawled across her forehead, because Arielle could see right through her.

"I know you're lying, so spare me the silly excuses. Please tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened, Arielle."

"Then how did we both end up sleeping on a pile of sacks in the kitchen pantry?" the Warden asked, slightly irritated by her refusal to admit to anything.

Leliana sighed. "You and Oghren thought it would be amusing to have a drinking competition," she explained, her gaze resolute. "He won, of course, and you passed out here. I stayed with you to keep you company and too look after you, and I… well, I must have fallen asleep." The premise seemed unlikely. She knew Oghren would always win a drinking contest with her, which was why she hadn't challenged him to one before, so why would she participate in one so suddenly?

Arielle sighed in defeat. She could only accept Leliana's word since she had no recollection of anything that might contradict such a tale. "Thank you for keeping me company," she said, frustrated that she couldn't remember a thing. She stood, holding out a hand for the redhead and pulled her to her feet. "Usually I'm quite obnoxious when I drink; I dread to think how insufferable I was to you when you tried to take care of me."

"Oh, you weren't insufferable at all," Leliana said. Under her breath so the younger woman wouldn't hear, she said, "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Part of her wanted to tell Arielle about what had gone on between them; she felt uncomfortable hiding it from her and hoped that she may be struck by a sudden realisation that Morrigan was not right for her. Leliana couldn't stand the woman, and thought that Arielle deserved far, far better. But then the other part of her, the wiser part of her, knew it was best not to say a word and keep the charade up. To tell her would be to destroy the friendship they shared, and she certainly did not want that. She would have to make sure to get to Oghren before Arielle did and inform him of her dishonesty. He would surely be interrogated as soon as he crossed paths with the hero of Ferelden.

Arielle eased the pantry door open slightly, surveying the kitchen briefly for the cook or any servants. Thankfully the room was empty and she assumed that they, along with the rest of the palace, were still asleep. It was not often that two dishevelled women emerged from the pantry of all places in the morning.

"I'm going to bathe," said Arielle when they reached the steps leading up to the washroom and the living quarters. There was something odd about Leliana's behaviour, she noticed, by the way her eyes kept darting about, and the fact she was not her usual talkative, bubbly self. She pinned it on a lack of sleep; the sacks couldn't have been comfortable to sleep on. She'd only managed it for so long because she'd obviously passed out from her large consumption of beer.

"In that case, I shall go back to bed," said Leliana, flashing Arielle a short-lived smile. She laughed dryly, "A proper bed, this time."

The bard made hastily for the stairs, trying to get away from the Warden as though she carried the plague. She did, in a way. Though not contagious, the taint in her blood would kill her eventually, just as a plague would. Arielle wasn't particularly in the mood to read into it, however, and followed her up at a slower pace, turning left where Leliana would have turned right, towards the baths. As she had expected, they were empty.

* * *

When the bell rang throughout the palace to signify it was time for breakfast, Arielle, who, after having bathed and dressed into clean clothes, slid off her bed and made her way back downstairs. For the past hour she had been trying to lift the haze in her mind to try and recall what had happened the previous night, but so far, with no such luck.

When she approached her seat in between Oghren and Leliana, the dwarf began to snigger, "I wiped the floor with you, Warden!"

Unknown to Arielle, Leliana had not actually gone to bed, and instead had headed straight for Oghren's room to tell him to pretend he'd won a drinking contest with her. He would, of course, have won anyway, so he had no trouble in boasting about it. She was grateful that, although he tended to be crass and foolish at times, he was good at acting. Moreover, he hadn't inquired into why Leliana had requested what she had, being mindful of her privacy.

"Apparently so," said Arielle, exhaling amusedly. "I'm not ever going to live this down, am I?"

Oghren guffawed, shaking his head as he shoved a handful of green grapes into his mouth.

Arielle turned to Leliana, who had not greeted her in her usual cheery fashion. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yes, quite wonderfully," Leliana smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. There was something different about them that morning, Arielle concluded, as though there was something she was hiding from her. The bard quickly averted her gaze and reached forwards to sip from her goblet. She was about to ask her if anything was wrong, but the sound of clinking metal caught her attention. Alistair was standing at the head of the table, goblet and pewter spoon in hand, coaxing everyone into silence so they would listen to what he had to say.

It was a short speech regarding the arrival of the Orlesian Wardens later that day, and how everyone ought to make them feel welcome. Boring, really, as were most of his speeches – or so Arielle found. She did think the nice reddish-purple bruise on his jaw suited him, and she was rather impressed with herself for its size.

When everyone began to leave, Leliana was up in an instant. Arielle caught her hand before she could hurry off, and forced her to meet her eyes.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, of course not; what could you possibly have done?" There was a hint of uncertainty in the bard's response.

"That's what I'm asking you," said Arielle.

"You haven't done a thing," said Leliana, giving her one of those noncommittal smiles again. She snatched her hand away, "I've got to go… I'm- I've got lots of washing to do."

Arielle watched her go, practically sprinting out of the dining hall and interspersing with the throng of noblemen and women filing out through the main doors. There was something Leliana wasn't telling her, and she was determined to find out what. She started to follow her, squeezing through the crowd, and trailed the flurry of midnight blue silk that was rapidly retreating up the stairs. The bard was fast, even in heels, and as Arielle was halfway down the passage, the door to her chamber had slammed shut. She knocked lightly, receiving no response. She knocked harder, but again, nothing.

"Leliana?" There was a hint of desperation in her voice, "please speak to me. Tell me what's upsetting you."

"I'm busy," was the redhead's muffled reply.

Giving up on politeness, Arielle opened the door, walking straight into the middle of the room. "What in Andraste's name is going on?" She stared down at Leliana, who was sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

Leliana was conflicted. She knew she ought to tell Arielle the truth, because, no matter how believable the façade was, the Warden would remember eventually. There would be no denying what had happened between them, and it would be worse if she continued to lie. She couldn't even look her in the eye without displaying ever inch of her guilt.

"I'm sorry, Arielle," she began, feeling the tears forming in her eyes, for she knew that with her concession, it could possibly be the end of their friendship. "There… there was no drinking competition. You were… you had taken some deathroot extract, and you must have been hallucinating. I found you in the kitchen, and… you thought I was Morrigan." The tears had spilt down her cheeks and she met Arielle's blank gaze, "you must understand I did not want to hurt you further by…" a small sob escaped her lips, "I- I foolishly went along with it. I'm so sorry, Arielle. I shouldn't have deceived you like that; I should have stopped you right away."

At first, Arielle simply stood there, eyes concentrated on the far wall, unmoving; digesting what the bard had just told her. Then, the mist in her mind seemed to dissipate, and the memory she'd been trying to recall came rushing back to her. The Morrigan she'd seen in her delusion hadn't been Morrigan at all.

"Please say something," Leliana begged, touching her arm.

Arielle looked into Leliana's teary eyes and jerked her arm away. She moved towards the door, and said firmly, "Don't follow me." Without another word, she left and stormed down the hallway, bursting through the door of her own room and hurling it shut.

In her anguish she tore down the curtains of her four-poster, pulled out the drawers of the dressing table and flung them at the wall, and swept the vases and the jewellery box on the top onto the floor. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and angry with herself, she drove her fist into the reflective surface, causing it to shatter and shred her knuckles. Cursing in Orlesian – a habit she'd picked up off Leliana – she sank to the floor.

It was at that moment she wished she had perished along with the Archdemon.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Just a short little chapter focusing on the fallout of the previous one. Thanks to grover11606 for your review (sorry I couldn't give you a proper reply), and also to Mm-Burnt-Toast-mM, thank you for yours, too!

* * *

As if she had some sort of distressed-Arielle intuition, Wynne came through her door and immediately folded the anguished young Warden into her arms. She may have been a grown woman, but she was still young, and sometimes still needed to be looked after. And Wynne had made sure that she would be the one to do so. With one swift motion and a short incantation, she healed Arielle's bloody knuckles. The girl was clinging to her as if she were afraid she'd leave; just as Morrigan had done. The old mage silently cursed the apostate for causing the younger woman such pain, and hoped that her decision to leave was eating away at her. She brushed away the damp strands of auburn hair that were slicked to Arielle's teary cheeks, and pressed her lips to her forehead. "Tell me what troubles you, dear. Is it Morrigan again?"

"Not entirely…" Arielle sniffed, resting her head on Wynne's shoulder. "I…" she felt somewhat embarrassed about discussing the whole situation with her, but knew that she would be the last one to judge. "Last night, I ingested the extract from a deathroot… I just wanted to forget about everything for a while; to not feel any pain any more, and it- well, it," she paused and swallowed hard to stop herself from bursting into tears again, "I started to hallucinate. I saw Morrigan. But it wasn't her – it was Leliana, and we…" she bowed her head, shameful, and with reddened cheeks. "You-know-what…"

The elder mage remained unfazed by the admission, and she did not flee from the room in disgust, nor did she distance herself from the younger woman. She continued to stroke her hair in a soothing manner. "Are you upset because Morrigan has not returned as your hallucination led you to believe, or are you upset because what you thought you were sharing with Morrigan, you were unwittingly sharing with Leliana?"

More silent tears fell from Arielle's eyes. "I do not know. Both…?"

"I cannot condone what Leliana did," Wynne began, "but perhaps – though this may sound rather asinine – she did what she did, for you. Perhaps she did not want to reject your advances because it would have exacerbated your state of heartbreak while you believed she was Morrigan, because then, you would have believed Morrigan was declining you." She allowed the young Warden a moment to process her words, before continuing. "Leliana cares so deeply for you, Arielle. She would not purposefully cause you harm; she was doing what she, at the time, thought was best for you- for your feelings. Don't throw away your friendship with her over a misunderstanding."

Arielle knew the incisive mage was right. She could not stay angry at Leliana. She meant too much to her to simply let her go. She removed her tears with the back of her clean hand, "Thank you," she said, hugging Wynne tightly, "for everything."

Wynne smiled the kindest smile Arielle had ever seen, "You are more than welcome, my dear."

Arielle stood, plucking a piece of cloth out of one of the battered drawers she'd cast to the floor, and wiped her bloodied hand on it, turning it from white to crimson. "I should go to her."

Wynne nodded, gentle silver eyes twinkling with benevolence, watching the young woman promptly leave the room and head down the hallway to the bard's door.

When Arielle knocked, she had no idea what she was going to say. The fiery-haired Orlesian opened the door, her eyes tinged with red and her cheeks stained with her tears.

"You- you were the last person I expected to see," she confessed.

"Will you do something for me?" asked Arielle.

Worry flickered across Leliana's face for a brief moment. She thought Arielle might ask her to travel to the Deep Roads and never come back. But she wouldn't, she knew the Warden was not like that. She didn't have a bad bone in her body. "I would do anything for you, Arielle. You know I would."

Arielle stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Then make me… make me feel the way you did before – … make me feel wanted."

Leliana knew that the girl's heart belonged to Morrigan. But for now, she would be there for her when the witch wasn't; even if it was only for a short while. She knew she would end up the one to get hurt; that the lovelorn hero would go off to search for her eventually – but until then, she would enjoy the fleeting pretence of Arielle's love, for it was better than never having had it at all.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't worry, Arielle and Leliana aren't going to become an item. It's all about Morrigan, whom Arielle will begin her search for in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone! Sorry it's been a while since the last update. Been busy on holidays and partying and such... You know how it is, haha. Anyway, I've rewritten this chapter multiple times because I wasn't happy with it, and even now I'm still not, but I am at a loss as to what else I can do to it to make it better. It revolves around Arielle deciding how she's going to go about finding Morrigan, and the method I've used might be slightly controversial, if not completely and utterly AU, so please, please, please forgive me for that. If you read it and absolutely hate it, let me know, because I'm not a huge fan of it either.

Oh, and I don't have a Beta for this, so any mistakes are my own.

* * *

When the Orlesian Grey Wardens arrived at Denerim palace, Arielle was summoned by the soon-to-be king to greet them. She hadn't yet forgiven Alistair for his duplicity – even if it had supposedly been with her 'best interests at heart' – and so the coronation still hadn't gone forth and he was not yet the official king of Ferelden.

She slipped out of Leliana's room without waking the sleeping bard, and returned to her own to dress for the occasion. Quite what one was required to wear to meet other Grey Wardens from Orlais, she did not know. After much deliberation, she chose not to wear a dress and instead donned her armour – drakeskin, crafted specially for her by the blacksmith Wade – and made her way down to the entrance hall.

The welcoming wasn't particularly thrilling, and as she shook hands with the three male Orlesian Wardens and the single female Warden, her mind was elsewhere. She was beginning to regret what she'd done with Leliana; what she'd done _to_ Leliana. She had used her to make herself feel better – to dispel her troubles for a while, and she'd put Leliana in an awkward position. It was not what a good friend should have and would have done, and she'd abused the bond of friendship they shared for her own gain. She shouldn't have exploited Leliana's willingness to do just about anything for her.

"Lady Cousland?" The Grey Warden, whose name she'd heard only a few minutes ago, she could not remember. He was a tall man, with a moustache and goatee and long, dark hair that fell past his shoulders. His voice was smooth and musical, and to her own surprise, she found him rather attractive.

He must have been talking to her and she'd lost concentration. "My apologies- …?" she gave him a lop-sided smile to indicate she could not remember the name by which he'd introduced himself.

"Cade," he replied with a smile. "I imagine you have a lot on your mind, no?"

"Something like that," said Arielle, hoping he wouldn't inquire into what was bothering her or occupying her thoughts. "I trust you had a safe journey here?"

"More or less. There were still a few Darkspawn stragglers around the countryside but they have been dealt with, now." He was halfway through his sentence when his eyes left Arielle's and focused on something behind her. She followed his gaze, to Leliana. She looked beautiful as ever, wearing a floor-length leaf-green dress with darker green strands criss-crossing across the bodice. It contrasted perfectly with her fiery hair. When she caught sight of Arielle, she smiled and approached with fluid, graceful steps that put the younger Warden to shame. She wasn't exactly graceful and had a tendency to be very, very clumsy. When she had a blade in her hand, however – that was a different story. She remembered her father – a pang of sadness squeezing at her heart – had once said that her steps with a sword carried the elegance of an exquisite dance.

"Welcome," said Leliana to Cade, bowing her head and holding out a petite hand for him to shake. Instead of doing just that, he pressed his lips to her knuckle, eliciting a blush of her cheeks and a bashful grin to cross her face. "It would seem you are quite the gentleman, my fellow Orlesian. It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Leliana."

"A pretty name for such a pretty face," he said, his accent making rather a clichéd compliment sound delightfully charming. "Cade."

The two Orlesians got on well almost instantly, and Arielle suddenly felt extremely out of place. They began talking about Orlais and Val Royeaux and Val Chevin and Halamshiral and Mont-de-grace and just about every city in the region. They spoke of things that Arielle did not understand, having only glossed over the Orlesian culture in certain conversations with the bard. She imagined Leliana felt a sense of home when she conversed with him, and she recognised a hint of desire lurking in the depths of the minstel's slate-grey eyes.

The Warden slipped away unnoticed, leaving them to get to know one another. It was more than obvious to her he was already interested in the redhead, and he was gentlemanly and handsome, so it was all just a matter of time until a fire began to burn between them.

Upon seeing the exchange, Arielle felt a twinge of jealousy. Not because of the way she felt about either of them – Cade was attractive but was not interested in him in that way, and she loved Leliana as a dear, dear friend – but because she was alone. She did not have anyone to love her as Cade could possibly love Leliana, or as Leliana could possibly love Cade.

It inspired her to actually move ahead in her plans to find Morrigan, rather than continue to wallow in her self-pity and drown in her unending sorrow.

She had three options. One: hire someone to find information on Morrigan's whereabouts. Two: search for the witch on her own, hoping to hear something of a roaming apostate from passing civilians, and follow the most recent sighting. Three: ask Wynne how she would go about an endeavour like that; the wise mage always knew what to do for the best and she may have another idea that would prove better than her own.

She found the mage in the library sitting beside the hearth reading a crumbling tome, and seated herself on the stool next to her. The pewter-haired woman looked up and greeted her with a smile as warm as the roaring flames of the fire. "Is there something I can help you with, my dear?"

Arielle nodded sombrely. "I must find Morrigan."

Wynne closed the book in her lap and gave the young Warden her full attention. "I… don't know how I can help with that, I'm afraid. Are you asking whether I would accompany you in your search?"

Arielle shook her head. "Finding her is something I have to do on my own, but I don't know how."

The Senior Enchanter smiled sadly, sympathy and regret clouding her aged features. "I'm sorry, dear, but I don't know how, either."

"There has to be _some way_," Arielle said angrily, clenching her fists together tightly. "The taint is inside her, too; _growing_ inside her. I should be able to… I don't know, detect her. Or, at the very least, detect that abomination growing inside her womb."

"I don't know how it could be done, except with…" Wynne started, reluctant to finish her sentence by the look of apprehension in her wise, silver eyes.

"Please, Wynne," Arielle begged, desperately clasping the mage's hand in both of her own as if she was a lifeline, a means of salvation. "I need to find her."

The old mage sighed, nibbling on her lower lip. She couldn't bear to see Arielle hurt again, and after everything she'd been through; she deserved more than a sliver of happiness. If helping her to find Morrigan was a way to make Arielle happy, then Wynne would do it. If it hadn't been for Arielle, she might have perished at the Circle Tower. If it hadn't have been for Arielle, the entire land could have been overcome by the Darkspawn. She deserved to be granted something in return for her unwavering valour. "Blood magic."

The Warden knew that sort of magic was forbidden; she'd seen what it could do to people if it grew out of control; but if it meant finding Morrigan, then she was prepared to use it. At that moment, she didn't care for the consequences. "Tell me what to do."

"I will need a vial of Alistair's blood."

"And after I've got it?"

"Because Morrigan is a mage, and the child she is carrying is as much hers as it is Alistair's, I will need to fuse a mage's blood with his own. I believe that I may then be able to call upon the Fade to extract part of a spirit – similar to the one that protects me. The spirit will then… bind to the blood, I suppose. Afterwards, the blood will bind to you. The taint in your system, along with the taint in Alistair's blood, will make it easier for it to happen. Once that is done, the spirit inside you should enable you to become aware of the child's location – thus revealing to you where Morrigan is." Before Arielle could fire a salvo of questions at her, Wynne added, "but as with all blood magic, this could go horribly wrong, Arielle. The spirit may be too powerful for your body to accommodate, or a demon may somehow slip through the Veil and inhabit your body and turn you into an abomination. So, so much could turn awry."

"Let us hope that doesn't happen, then." She knew she was asking a lot of the older woman. To coerce her into practicing forbidden magic was yet another instance where Arielle was acting as a terrible friend. But she was so desperate. She _had_ to find Morrigan, and she would do anything for it.

Wynne pursed her lips ruefully. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

Arielle looked directly into Wynne's eyes, and said unblinkingly, "I'm certain."

* * *

It was not long later that Arielle was scouring the palace for Alistair – the last person she would want to be looking for under any normal circumstance. She had found Anora in her chamber, and she'd told her the royal Grey Warden was giving the Orlesian Wardens a tour – which meant he could be anywhere within the structure.

Eventually, she found them wandering through the gardens, led by Alistair, who was reeling off a list of vegetables that they grew on the patch. When she approached him he seemed surprised, and stopped mid-vegetable.

Without saying anything to him in greeting, Arielle dove straight in, speaking barely above a whisper. "I need a vial of your blood."

He blinked, raising an eyebrow at her. "What? What for? You're not going to have some sort of spell cast on me are you? I mean – I know I hurt you, Arielle, but don't you think that's taking things a little too far? You could get executed for treason, you know! This won't stand up in a courtroom!"

"This is nothing to do with you," she growled.

"And yet you want a vial of _my_ blood. Ha- yeah- that makes _so_ much sense."

"I want to find Morrigan, and I need your blood to do it."

"I see," he seemed to sober at that point. As if suddenly realising something, he said softly, "You really love her, don't you." It wasn't a question, more a statement, to which Arielle responded with a curt nod of her head.

Alistair then addressed the Orlesians that had been watching, but not hearing, the spectacle in silence. "I think we'll end the tour here. Why don't you... have a little explore for yourselves. I'm sure I've missed something out. Don't get lost!" He turned back to Arielle. "Let's go."

The blood from the gash on Alistair's palm dribbled into the vial, and when it was full, Arielle corked it while he wrapped a piece of gauze around his hand.

"Thank you," she said, but did not look at him when she did.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly. "I really am, Arielle. I just-" he sighed. "I couldn't bear to lose you. You mean far too much to me after everything we've been through to simply let you perish. Quite frankly, I'd rather you were alive and hated me for what I've done than, well… dead."

Arielle bit down on her bottom lip. It was easier pretending she hated him. Easier not to look at his face and think of him with her. It was easier, but it was a hard pretence to keep up. She was tired of it. She was a mess, and it was a time when she needed her closest friend the most. "I don't hate you," she admitted quietly. "I could never hate you – as much as I want to, I can't."

Alistair stood, and Arielle walked into his open arms. He held her tightly, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I hope you find her."

"I shan't stop until I do."

* * *

Arielle watched as Wynne mixed the two vials of blood together to become one, ready to inhabit the spirit that she would call forth from the Fade. Her heart was pounding beneath her breast and although she felt a sense of hope, there was also a sense of dread lingering in the pit of her stomach. Not only could a demon occupy her body, but the whole process might not even work. If it didn't work, she would have to resort to more time-consuming methods to find her Witch of the Wilds. She may not be able to find her for years, and by then, would the mage still love her? She was unsure she still loved her even now. Could Arielle believe she loved her, after sleeping with Alistair and leaving her all alone?

Yes. And she believed it because it was all that was keeping her on the Earth. Without Morrigan's love, she was nothing; she _had_ nothing.

The old mage clasped the vial of the two bloods in both of her hands, and stood in the middle of a pentagram chalked onto the stone floor, where five candles had been placed at each point of the star. She began to chant something in a language that the young Warden didn't understand, closing her eyes to aid in focusing her magical power. A faint blue aura seemed to surround her, and the flames of the candles flickered erratically as if some invisible force were sweeping past them, or a rogue breeze was flowing through the room. Wynne's wizened face was contorted with what Arielle could only think was either pain or struggling with the power of the magic she was calling upon. The vial was levitating in mid-air, no longer held in her hands, and all of a sudden the glass broke, flying across the room. Arielle shielded herself, turning back a moment later to see Wynne unscathed, the shards having ricocheted off a magical barrier she'd erected instantly, and the blood floating in multiple pulsing crimson globules. Then, as though with a mind of its own, the suspended blood shot towards her, splattering against her body and seeping through her skin to mix with her own blood. There was a second of pain, like needles were piercing her where the globules phased into her, and then… nothing. She felt no different. Stripped of all her energy, Wynne collapsed onto the floor, knocking over the now extinguished candles.

Arielle, suddenly panic-stricken rushed to the mage's side to check she was still breathing. "Wynne," she cradled the woman's head in her lap, "Wynne, can you hear me? Oh, Andraste have mercy," she brushed a few wisps of silver hair from her face, knowing that there was nothing she nor anyone else could do for her, but willing her to live with every fibre of her being. She was like a second mother to her, and she could never forgive herself if something happened to her. She should never have asked her to participate in the ritual. Tears trickled down her pale cheeks and she leant her forehead against the mage's shoulder, cursing both in Orlesian and her mother tongue.

"Such bad language isn't very becoming, dear."

Arielle snapped her head up to look at Wynne, whose eyes were drowsily half-open and with a soft smile on her lips.

"I thought you were gone," said the Warden, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to do this."

Wynne chuckled, and gathered the strength to sit up. "I'm not quite done yet."

Arielle flung her arms around her, hugging her so tightly the old mage had to tell her to loosen her grip for lack of breath. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right, dear," Wynne returned the embrace with equal warmth. "There's still plenty of life in these old bones yet." She paused for thought, "tell me: do you feel the spirit?"

"I… I don't think so," said Arielle sadly, "but I wouldn't know what one felt like."

"You'll know it when you do," the older woman replied, "it's probably spending time accustoming itself to your body. I'm sure you'll get a sign very soon. Now, if you would be so kind, I don't think I can walk to my room by myself. Could you help me?"

"Of course." Arielle gently helped Wynne to stand, and linked their arms so that the mage could lean heavily on her.

They were just passing through the door of the unused room on the very highest floor of the palace they'd occupied for the blood magic ritual when Wynne stopped walking. "Oh, the mess! We need to get rid of that glyph. And that broken glass." She turned, mind set on cleaning up the evidence of their rule-breaking, but the Warden stopped her.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'll see that it's done."

Wynne smiled lazily and said nothing more on the matter.

* * *

Once Wynne was in her room and Arielle had made sure she truly was fine, interrogating her to find out if she was lying or not, she climbed the steps to the top floor of the palace again. She closed the door to the empty room behind her, and began the cleanup, sending silent prayers up to the Maker and Andraste that the ritual had worked and the spirit would send her a sign soon. She didn't know how much longer she could wait. She must find Morrigan, even if it killed her.


	8. Chapter 8

Once again, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favourited or put this story on alert. It's nice to know people are reading it! Forgive me if this chapter seems a bit rushed, I knew what I was going to write, I just lost a bit of my inspiration when it came to filling it out with everything. Let me know what you think if you so wish; it's always nice to hear from your readers :)

Enjoy.

* * *

Cold. Everything felt so cold. Frosty winds buffeted her bare skin and gnawed at her fingers and toes, howling mercilessly in her ears as though a swarm of banshees encircled her. White was omnipresent like an impenetrable mist obscuring her vision. She shivered uncontrollably, curling into a ball and hugging her knees to her chest to keep the warmth in her body from escaping. Icy spatters pierced her skin like the tip of a blade, and the tears froze on her eyelashes before they could trickle down her pallid cheeks. She had to move. If she remained there she would become frozen in time; an ice sculpture not solely of ice.

Finding a splinter of strength left in her stiff, numb limbs, she began to crawl forwards, grasping at the ground and feeling something cold but soft yield beneath her palms. Snow.

Crawling. She kept crawling.

She felt tired. Sleep was calling to her, begging her to surrender herself to it. Perhaps she could have a rest. Just lie down for a short while and have a little nap…

_Keep going, Arielle. Don't stop. You're almost there, now. _

The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it before. _I want to sleep,_ she told it. _I'm tired._

_Don't sleep. Not yet. Keep going. Almost there... _

She did as the voice asked her. She began to crawl again, ignoring the ache in her joints and the chill sweeping through her veins. She was nearly there.

Through the blanket of whiteness covering her eyes, she saw a faint orange glow. Mesmerised, she continued on, drawing in shallow breaths as she heaved her body forwards. The glow grew brighter. Closer. She was nearly there.

A tent. She was sure of it. Next to the orange glow. A faint outline. And smoke. A fire.

A figure. Next to the fire. Pale skin. Black hair.

Closer. She had to get closer.

Pale skin. Black hair. Feathers. Lots of feathers. A bird? No. A human.

A ribbon. Scarlet. Tied to the wrist. Had she seen it before? Yes. It belonged to her. She always wore it in her hair. Scarlet was her favourite colour, just like her mother's.

Amber eyes.

Morrigan.

Darkness.

* * *

Arielle awoke suddenly, gasping for breath and clawing at the bed sheets beneath her, grabbing handfuls of cloth between her fingers. She was no longer cold and numb, but the sweat on her skin was cool, causing her to involuntarily shiver. Wherever she had been in her dream, Morrigan had been there too. The scarlet ribbon around her wrist had affirmed it. She remembered the morn of the final battle, after Morrigan had vanished without a trace, searching for the ribbon on her dresser. Unable to find it, she'd had to settle for a strip of blue cloth to tie her hair back from her face, but it didn't hold the same sentiment as the scarlet ribbon had. Her mother had given her the ribbon when she'd been injured in a sparring session with Ser Gilmore after her hair had fallen across her eyes and obscured her vision. She hadn't been able to see the wooden staff coming towards the side of her face. She'd meant to block it, but instead it had slammed into her cheek and sent her sprawling onto the ground. She'd had a swollen, bruised face for a week afterwards.

The dream hadn't simply been a dream. Of that, she was sure. She was certain it was an indication to Morrigan's whereabouts, though she couldn't discern where exactly she'd seen her.

It had been so cold… so very, very cold. There had only been one instance in her life when she'd felt the chill coursing through her and the icy winds battering her body and the frost biting at her extremities. It was when she, accompanied by Morrigan, Leliana and Sten, had been travelling to the Ruined Temple in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes for Arl Eamon. The passage to the temple had been on the very edge of the Frostback Mountains and possessed an equally arctic climate, if not somewhat milder than that of her dream. Perhaps that was where Morrigan had gone; to the Frostback Mountains, Arielle considered. It was certainly an ideal location for someone who wanted to isolate themselves from the rest of humanity.

It was when she contemplated this idea, that she felt a whisper in the depths of her mind. She could not decipher what it said, but it seemed to instil a sense of hope inside her.

The voice in her dream… the whisper…

The spirit.

She smiled to herself. _Thank you_.

She knew where she must go, and she wanted to begin her journey as soon as possible. But first, she needed supplies; and to tell her brother not to worry.

* * *

She found him in the training room next to the armoury giving one of the wooden-block dummies a good seeing to with a wooden practice sword. "Don't they trust you with the real thing, brother?"

Fergus turned and grinned at her, pushing his damp hair from his sticky brow. "They're afraid I might slice their blocks to pieces with my real one. Dare I offer you a challenge?"

If he had asked any other time, Arielle would have happily obliged, but not today. She hoped to set off mid-afternoon so that she may have enough time to reach the nearest village where she might be able to spend the night. A little spar with her brother would occupy precious time she hadn't enough of. He would understand her declination. "I wish I could, but…"

Her brother scrutinised her with a smirk. "That sparkle has returned to your eyes, Ari. When do you leave?"

"I…" Arielle frowned, "how did you…?"

"A lucky guess, I suppose," he chuckled, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his beige tunic. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

She pondered his offer for a moment, and then nodded. "A horse, perhaps? I don't think I could get there very fast on foot."

"I shall make sure you have the fastest horse I've got," his smile was warm, but soon faded. "I wish I could come with you, but I have to be here for the coronation… they are to declare me the new Teyrn of Highever."

Arielle wrapped her arms around her brother's middle. "Don't worry. I'm going alone."

Fergus stiffened in her grip. "Alone? But what if-"

"Hush, brother," she smiled a teasing smile, and placed a teasing finger on his lips to silence him. "I've faced far worse things than a few senseless bandits that might attack me on my travels. I will be fine."

He tightened the embrace and then released her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Very well, little sister. I'll get you your horse, then."

Arielle spent the majority of the morning packing provisions into saddlebags and gathering the clothing, armour and weapons she was going to take with her. The palace had supplies enough for at least three thousand men, so she was sure they wouldn't notice a bedroll, a small tent and a cooking pot going amiss. When she went to get food from the kitchen, the cook was less than impressed, but didn't deny her whatever she asked for. When she was finished, her pack was bulging with two of her dresses, a tunic and leather chaps, an assortment of salves and poultices, and the surplus food that wouldn't fit into the saddlebags. Fergus had shown her to her horse in the stables, a beautiful, strong black Friesian gelding, and she had saddled him up and strapped the saddlebags on his back. As she was fastening the last of the buckles on the rear saddlebag, she saw Alistair walking briskly towards her from across the courtyard.

"You're leaving _now_?" He had a bemused expression on his handsome face. "You're not going to stay for the coronation?"

Arielle nibbled on her lower lip. "I… well… no. I'm sorry, Alistair, but I must leave now if I am to catch up with her. I don't know whether she'll stay in one place or keep moving. I don't want to miss this opportunity."

He furrowed his brow and looked down at the ground, imitating the horse by scraping the ground with his foot. "No, I'm sorry," he said, "it was selfish of me to expect you to stay. I know how much this means to you, Arielle." He smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze, "I'll be here to see you off."

Arielle had more goodbyes to say, thankfully without the morbidity as had been the case before she went to Fort Drakon to battle the Archdemon. She went to see Sten and Oghren first, who were arguing over which weapon was the better out of the two-handed sword and the warhammer. She went to see Zevran and Shale afterwards, who treated her departure with relative indifference. Wynne was the last person Arielle went to say goodbye to.

"I see hope in your eyes," the old mage remarked when she opened the door to her chambers. She had slept most of the day after the drain on her energy the night before. Arielle would never be able to repay her kindness. "And I sense you've come to say goodbye."

Arielle nodded mutely, hugging the mage tightly. "I had a dream. I'm going to follow it."

"That's wonderful news dear," Wynne said, cupping the young warden's cheeks in her hands. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you so much for everything you've done for me, Wynne," said Arielle. "I wish there was more I could do to show how grateful I am but… words are all I have."

"Words are more than enough, child. I wish you a safe journey. May the Maker watch over you." She kissed Arielle's forehead. "Now go. Time is of the essence."

Alistair was waiting for her by the stables with Fergus when she went back out into the courtyard. "Do you have everything? Is there anything else you need? I can get it for you, you know, whatever you need, I have powers now."

Arielle touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips. "You're rambling again, your majesty."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before softening and folding her into his arms. "I suppose I'm going to have to get used to people calling me that. I'll miss you, you know. It's going to be strange without you here… without you by my side."

"I'll be back," she said, and it was no word of a lie. "I promise."

Fergus kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly, holding onto her for as long as he could before she prized his arms from around her. She laughed, "I'll come and visit you at Highever, brother."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Arielle put her left foot into the stirrup, gripping the pommel of the saddle ready to pull herself up and sling her right leg over the horse's back when she heard someone calling her name.

"Arielle, wait!" Leliana came sprinting towards her, her hair flowing behind her like flames of a fire. The Grey Warden turned to look at her, removing her foot from the stirrup. The bard stopped in front of her, panting slightly from the exertion, tears glistening in her eyes. "You would just leave without a farewell?"

The sadness on Leliana's face caused guilt to flood through the warden. "I…" She hadn't purposefully left out Leliana when she was saying goodbye to everyone, she just couldn't go through with it. It was too painful to say goodbye to her best friend, not knowing how long it would be before they saw one another again. "I'm sorry," Arielle murmured, "I didn't… it was too hard."

"Let me come with you," she said.

Arielle shook her head sadly, "no. I have to do this by myself."

"But what if you get attacked? You might not be able to fend them off on your own."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

The tears had spilt down Leliana's cheeks and the young warden gently wiped them away with the tips of her fingers. "I'll see you soon." She embraced her warmly, stroking her fiery hair. "I'm sorry for what I did to you."

The bard let out a sad chuckle, "don't apologise. I rather enjoyed it." She pulled away and placed a chaste kiss on Arielle's lips. It told the young noble that all was forgiven, though not forgotten, and that the Orlesian cared for her more than simple words could say. "Andraste guide you, Arielle."

And with that final farewell, she mounted her horse and began her journey to find the one who held her heart.


	9. Chapter 9

Gosh, this took ages to finish! I apologise for keeping you all waiting. I hope you like this chapter, and if you don't, let me know why not so I can make sure it doesn't happen with the next chapter. Hell, if you do like it, let me know too :-) Enjoy!

* * *

It was on her fourth day of travelling that Arielle reached a small village just a few miles north of what had been Lothering, and had, somehow, managed to survive decimation from the Blight. Darkspawn had definitely been there, as she saw from the line of Genlock and Hurlock heads speared through with long, black spikes in the ground. There was even a wooden signpost next to the gruesome display, scrawled in what she could only assume was Darkspawn blood, which said: _BEWARE ALL DARKSPAWN_. There wasn't any sign of life – human or other – in the little settlement, and she wondered if they hadn't survived after all.

She dismounted, taking cautious steps towards the nearest house. She raised her fist to rap on the dusty, mottled wood when it swung open and a large man with an equally large mace in his hand came charging towards her. He swung at her as she began to retreat backwards, stumbling on a clump of stones and luckily falling out of the way of the sharp spines protruding from the metal head that narrowly missed her face.

"Stay your hand!" she shouted, rolling away as the mace slammed down onto the ground where she once lay. "I mean you no harm!"

She scrambled to her feet, readying herself for another charge with both hands wrapped around the handles of the blades strapped to her back. But instead, her attacker had lowered his weapon and was scrutinising her with narrowed eyes. It was then that she got a chance to properly study him, while aware that he could lunge at her with an unexpected swiftness. He was dark-skinned with contrasting pewter hair, and muscular, with abnormally broad shoulders, wearing a set of fine leathers. A Qunari, she presumed, from his uncanny similarity in physical appearance to Sten. His penetrating stare with hollow ebony eyes unnerved her and compelled her to take a step backwards.

Another figure emerged from the rundown house and strode briskly towards them. "I told you she weren't a Darkspawn!" The newcomer, a human man smaller in stature than his companion, glared at the Qunari, who simply stared unflinchingly back. "Does she look like a Darkspawn to you?"

The Qunari, whose attitude appeared as stoic and misanthropic as Sten's, replied, "She smells like one." Arielle's eyebrow twitched. Could he really smell the taint in her blood? Was such even possible?

"Well, she speaks our language and doesn't look like one of those bastards," he gestured to the lifeless, haunting heads of the slain Darkspawn, and then turned to her, running a gloved hand over his hairless head. "Apologies for Yuri's behaviour," he marched to her with an outstretched hand, "I think 'e got out the wrong side of 'is bedroll this mornin'. Name's Probert, by the way. 'Ow d'ya do."

Yuri grunted in annoyance as she accepted his hand. "Arielle."

"Tell me, lovely Miss, what brings ya to the 'umble little village of Maybell?" he inquired, smiling genially.

Probert seemed trustworthy enough, she thought, but she wasn't sure she could say the same for Yuri. It seemed his scowl would simply be enough to frighten away a horde of Darkspawn, let alone his speed and strength with his mace. "I hoped for a bed for the night," she replied, "is it just the two of you, here?"

"Oh, no, no. We're part of a small group of mercenaries 'ere to protect the villagers. We ain't lost a single life yet!" he grinned triumphantly. Yuri merely harrumphed. "You're welcome to stay 'ere, Miss. The inn's where we've moved all the villagers so's we can keep an eye on 'em. Easier to protect 'em when they're all in one place, I say! There's room for ya in our little 'eadquarters over there," he pointed to the house she had been going to knock on the door of in the first place before Yuri had attacked her. "Rhona's got a pot of 'er famous beef stew on the go. I'll tell 'er to dish out an extra bowl." With that, he dashed off inside.

Arielle turned to Yuri, whose eyes she could feel burning into her skull, and smiled weakly at him. She held out her hand, "We er… I think we got off on the wrong foot," she offered, "Pleased to meet you."

His eyes moved from hers to settle on her extended hand, and then back to look at her again. He seemed angrier, now. "You reek of their stench. I do not trust you, and Probert is a fool to allow you into our home." His upper lip curled in disgust. "One false move and I shall slit your throat." The Qunari mercenary then proceeded to spit on the ground at her feet, and walked towards the house Probert had entered only a few moments before. She muttered an Orlesian curse at him under her breath, solidifying her dislike for the brute.

She led her horse to a healthy patch of grass next to the mercenaries' building, and slipped the reins over a sturdy wooden post in the ground. Gathering her bedroll and a hunk of bread to share around with her company for the evening, she wearily stepped inside.

The wonderful, sweet aroma of a stew was the first thing she noticed. The second, a small gathering of both men and women sitting around a circular table in the centre of the room, and the third, a large fireplace to her left, where a woman knelt next to the fire, stirring the contents of a large black pot as it was warmed by the flames. The woman, who she could only assume was Rhona, had long flaxen hair, longer than Arielle's own, in fact, and delicate milky-white skin and equally delicate, pixie-like features. The glow from the fire surrounded her frame and made her seem like a divine entity. She turned to her when she entered, smiling kindly. "Welcome."

The Warden stood there for a good five beats before replying, rendered speechless by her goddess-like form. The longest sentence her brain could seem to process was, "Hello."

"That there's Rhona," said Probert, who had appeared from the side and draped an arm around her shoulders. "First-class mercenary an' first-class cook. Beauty, ain't she?" Arielle couldn't imagine her in a blood-coated suit of armour, much less slaughtering waves of Darkspawn; she just seemed too fragile for such a violent occupation. She nodded mutely as he steered her off towards an open door to the right, where a mosaic of bedrolls covered the wooden floor. "Sleep wherever ya like. Stew'll be ready soon. Come join us at the table and I'll introduce ya to everyone."

Arielle nodded meekly, laying her bedroll in an empty corner of the room, and followed Probert to the round table. To her fortune, Yuri was nowhere in sight. He pulled up a chair for her and introduced her to everyone as he said he would. There were three other men and two women, one of which was a dwarf. They were all much friendlier than the Qunari who was indubitably sulking elsewhere, and immediately made the young warden feel at home –or as close to home as could be.

"You look like a mercenary yourself," said one of the other men – and the oldest out of them all, she thought – Gedeon. "Fought a lot of Darkspawn, eh?"

_'A lot' is an understatement,_ she thought bitterly. "Too many, for my liking."

"Not many people pass through here anymore," said the dwarven lady, called Manya. "What is your purpose here?"

The people of the village obviously hadn't heard the news that the Blight was over. Nor did they seem to know who she was. She decided she would keep it that way. "I'm on my way to see an old friend in a little village south of Orzammar," she explained. "It's a long journey, and after spending three nights lying out in the open for the wind and rain to keep me from sleeping, I hoped for shelter for the night."

It was at that point Rhona brought the stew around, and once everyone's wooden bowls were full to the brim, she occupied a chair beside Arielle. "You stay as long as you like," she flashed the young Warden a broad smile that made her want to stay there forever. "I might like to see how you handle a blade."

Arielle smiled weakly back. "Thank you, but I shall be setting off early in the morning and there won't be time, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps another time, then?"

"It would be my pleasure."

* * *

After three goblets of wine and many interesting tales from the mercenaries, Arielle retired to her bedroll. She was certain that had she not been on a quest and was simply just passing through, she would have stayed far longer than just one night. They were a delightfully jovial group of warriors, save Yuri of course, and she got along with them straight away, as though they had been acquaintances for far longer than scarcely a few hours.

It did not take long for her to fall asleep with the wine drowsing her as well as her own tiredness that came from wanting to spend as long as possible travelling. She hoped to arrive at the foot of the Frostback Mountains at least five days hence.

The last thing she thought of before she surrendered to slumber was Morrigan.

_Wake up, Arielle… You must wake up…_

She sat up, squinting in the darkness to see who else was awake that might have been trying for her attention, but everyone seemed fast asleep. Suddenly thirsty, she quietly rose from her bedroll and eased the door open a fraction, slipping through so the glow from the steady burning fire didn't wake any of the sleeping mercenaries. Taking a goblet from the table, and pouring herself the only drink she could find without going outside to retrieve water from the well, she slowly sipped the cider. Had the spirit awoken her? That seemed to make sense, though she couldn't fathom why.

_Look behind you…_

Slightly unsettled by the spirit's presence in her wakeful state, she turned around. Yuri was standing just a few strides from her with a knife in his hand that shimmered in the firelight. Having left her swords next to her bed, Arielle had nothing to defend herself with. She raised her hands as an indication of peace, and took a small, inconspicuous step backwards. "I don't want to fight you."

"You are not welcome here! How dare you ingratiate yourself into our home when you give off the same disgusting odour as the vermin we protect our people from!" He took a step towards her, and she took another back. "If I hadn't been awake, you would have murdered us all as we slept!"

"I'm a Grey Warden," she admitted. She'd refrained from telling the others such because she hadn't wanted them to fuss over her. They would always expect her to tell them stories about being a part of such a prestigious order, and quite frankly, she didn't care for storytelling. She had never wanted to be a Grey Warden, and now that the Archdemon was dead she had no reason to carry on like one anymore – starting with the omittance of such a title. She would rather be Lady Arielle Cousland than Arielle the Grey Warden. "That's why."

"I smell a lie just as easily as I can smell a Darkspawn," he growled. "I should have finished you when I had the chance."

He was about to advance, but Arielle quickly said, "Do you really want your comrades to think you a murderer?"

"You are a danger to us all. I am carrying out my duty as a protector and protecting them from you."

"Then perhaps you would consider a duel?" she suggested. It would be the only way for her to potentially win. She could make a suicidal dash for her weapons in the other room, but having witnessed his speed earlier that evening, she knew she wouldn't stand a chance.

A pitiless smirk occupied his thin lips. "Tempting. But vile scum do not deserve to die with such honour." He took another menacing step forwards.

Arielle's heart sunk when she felt the cold stone of the wall against her back.

"Yuri, let her alone." Rhona appeared behind him looking every bit the powerful goddess with a resolute glimmer in her sapphire eyes. He flinched as one of her slender hands rested gently on his arm, calming him. "She isn't what you seem to think. If she truly were a Darkspawn, I'm sure she'd have already attacked by now. They are mindless creatures. They would not plan to infiltrate our home and kill us as we sleep, let alone be able to disguise themselves so well as humans." She reached up to softly stroke his cheek, smiling benevolently. Arielle, who felt she ought to be the one getting tenderly consoled, noticed the way that the Qunari's air of hostility immediately diminished at her touch. Rhona looked to the Warden with apologetic eyes. "She is far too beautiful to be a Darkspawn, Yuri. Don't you agree?"

The pewter-haired mercenary looked to the woman he'd thought a monster, and then to the woman who could instantly soothe the rage burning inside him, and said, "Yes, my love."

* * *

It was just as the sun began to come into sight over the horizon that Arielle said her goodbyes to the mercenaries and set off on her travels once again.

For three days torrents of rain fell from the dark grey sky and soaked her through and through. Shivers trembled her body and the cold numbed her fingers and her toes, but she continued on, reluctant to stop and recuperate her strength for she wanted to reach the Frostback Mountains as soon as it were possible. Sleep did not come easily during the nights where the rain continued to pour down from the heavens, and often she did not even stop to rest. Exhaustion was constant, her limbs heavy and her thought processes sluggish, and sometimes she would begin to slip from the saddle after closing her eyes for a brief moment. But by completely exerting herself, and riding without pause, she reached a small town that was just a short ride on horseback from the foot of the Mountains on her ninth day of travelling. A light covering of snow blanketed the ground, and though it was nearly midday, the sky was dark and the windows of the houses and shops spilt bright, inviting yellow light across the ground. She left her horse in the stable near the tavern and with her pouch of sovereigns, silvers and coppers; she paid for a room that she could use straight away.

As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.

Ten hours later she awoke again with hunger scratching at her stomach.

When she opened her door she could smell food, ale, wine and more food. The warming sound of chatter and laughter echoed up the stairs, and she made her way down, weaving between the tables of men sharing jolly banter and inhaling tankards of drink and taking a seat at the bar.

The voluptuous barmaid approached with a smile and a 'what can I get for ya darlin'?' so Arielle requested wine and a serving of vegetables with a leg of chicken. As she sipped her pewter goblet of wine, she studied the map she'd been using to navigate her way across Ferelden. It was not as detailed as she would have liked, and only marked the largest cities and significant landmarks and the main roads, but anything smaller and they did not exist as far as this chart was concerned.

She waved the barman over after he finished serving another customer, and showed him the map, pointing to the little diagram of the Frostback Mountains. "Do you know if there is a trail to the top of these mountains?" she asked him.

"Ah yes," he put the tankard he was drying with a cloth down on the bar, and pointed to a place at the southern side of the mountains. "Just there. The pass goes all over the mountains as far as I know. Not many people go up there though, and those that do…" he licked his lips, "well, they don't tend to come back."

The wine suddenly tasted sour as it slid down her throat. "Why don't they come back?"

"No one truly knows," he moved aside as the barmaid brought her food over. "Most probably just can't cope with the cold and end up freezing to death. Some people think it's wolves, but none can be certain."

"I've 'eard stories, I 'ave," said the barmaid, "it's said that there's a tribe of barbarians livin' right up the top, an' when them poor adventurers go for a wander through the mount'ns, they kill 'em, an' eat their insides, an' carve their bones to make their weapons…" Arielle looked at her as though she'd just grown a second head and the barmaid exploded with laughter, slapping her hand on the wooden bar shelf. "Maker, lass – you should've seen your face! Bless your little cott'n socks!"

"So there aren't barbarians living at the top of the mountains?"

"Of course not! It's all a load of poppycock – there's no way they'd be survivin' right at the top. It's impossible!"

"I think I need some ale…"

* * *

The following morning, Arielle awoke feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the Frostback Mountains. Though the barman had said to her the previous night about no one returning from their expeditions up the mountains, she would not be deterred. Finding Morrigan was something she _would _do, and death was not an option until she succeeded. The little bathhouse down the landing from her rented room had only cold water, but she did not care. She bathed and washed away all the dirt and grime that had accumulated on her body during her travels, and then bought a set of furs to wear to keep her warm. She left her horse in the stables, paying the stable master a week's stay, for she didn't know how long she would be away and she did not want to inflict the coldness onto the already weary beast. After all, he had been travelling without rest for as long, if not longer, than she had. She left her armour and weapons with the small armoury for safekeeping, and strapped a small blade to her thigh. She didn't want to carry unnecessary weight that would slow her journey down.

A few hours later she was standing at the entrance of the mountain pass, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs itching to ascend as fast as they could.

At first, it wasn't so cold. She even felt slightly hot in her furs as she walked. At first, the path she was following that ran along the western side of the mountain was relatively smooth and the incline was only very gradual. But as she progressed further, the ground became uneven and scattered with jagged ice-covered rocks and snowflakes seemed to float all around her in the steadily increasing wind. The gusts became stronger, and the snowflakes became bigger and in larger quantities the higher from the ground she was. She was no longer hot and although she wasn't cold, she was very close.

She was unsure how much time had passed since she began along the pass, but the slope began to even out and curved around to open out into a large snow-filled valley where one crest of the mountain met another. The winds were striking her like icy fists, and the chill came as an irrepressible shiver as her body tried to fend off the cold. It felt as it had in her dream, if not worse. Her limbs were aching and inflexible and despite her cumbersome furs, she was cold. The pack on her back, containing her bedroll and some food and other supplies seemed heavier now than it had to begin with, even though she hadn't added anything weighty to its contents. As she trudged through the thick snow on the ground, she tripped over her heavy feet and fell. She took in big gasps but the thin, frosty air didn't seem to satisfy her lungs. She heaved herself up, forcing herself to carry on even though she wasn't sure she could. She understood now why anyone who dared venture up the mountains never returned. Even if she wanted to turn back, she wasn't sure she had the energy in her to do so. Sleep; she wanted to sleep.

Dragging her boots through the snow, she reached the first of about four clusters of huge rocks across the expanse of snow in the valley, and rested heavily against them to catch her breath. She pushed onwards, trying to see through the haze of white that constantly assaulted her vision but with no such luck. Her body screamed in protest as she traipsed across the valley, her skin tingling with numbness.

She was so numb she barely felt the arrow pierce her shoulder. She looked up, squinting through the blizzard to see a group of people approaching her. They too were wearing furs, with feathers in their hair and bows in their hands and quivers tied to their backs. She reached for her dagger, but all of a sudden felt intensely dizzy and nauseous, grasping at the handle but never getting a proper grip on it. She fell to her knees, unable to stand anymore. She slumped on the ground, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness as her mind went blank and she could no longer think properly. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but could vaguely see the group of… whatever they were, still advancing towards her prone form.

Just as her eyes closed and she yielded to the darkness, she saw them begin to flee as a swirling column of flames erupted from the ground in front of them.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow, it's been a while. So long in fact, that Dragon Age 2 is out with more awesome characters that I may play with in future FFs. Anyway, sorry for the long wait (if anybody is still going to bother reading this), but enjoy it if you do.**

* * *

How she'd known Arielle was nearby and in danger, Morrigan didn't understand. She'd been warming her hands by the campfire after spending hours on all fours in her bear form – it was the only time the wolves were afraid of her – when a dreadful sensation came over her. It was indescribable and unexpected, and it scared her.

There had only been one other instance where she'd felt scared: the eve of the final battle when the Warden had refused her help; when she had resigned herself to death upon slaying the Archdemon.

Morrigan had known it for some time; ever since the Blight had begun, at least. Flemeth had been the one to tell her, having lived through four Blights before. The old woman was useful for that much, she thought bitterly, to teach her things that no one else would. She'd assumed the Warden would agree to the ritual because she wanted to live, and Morrigan had offered it to her because she wanted her to live. She was awash with terror when she had turned down her offer because she was surely going to die that day. Many times over Arielle had been in situations where the chance of dying was always ever-present, but the witch had always been there with her – and though she would never explicitly admit it – protecting her. Without the ritual, there was no means by which the mage could prevent the Warden's death. It had been her last hope. And it had been that very fear that had caused her to do what she had done – an act of utter desperation. And after it had happened, as quick and easy as it had, she'd fled because she could not bear to face her. She could not bear to look into those entrancing green eyes, or kiss those soft, supple lips and act guiltlessly around her. Lying came as easily to her as unkindness, but she would not; could not; lie to Arielle. She was ashamed by what she'd done, for she would be hurting the person with whom she'd fallen so fiercely in love, and who loved her so fiercely in return.

And so she snatched up her staff and followed the feeling to Arielle. She scrambled up and over the ridge of rocks onto the even confluence of the mountains to see a group of Avvar occupied by something behind a cluster of ice-covered boulders across the way. She did not need to travel any nearer because she already knew that it was Arielle they were charging towards. She summoned an inferno to assail them, to prevent them from reaching her. She watched mercilessly as they were burnt alive, their cacophony of screams being carried away on the raging wind and echoing unbearably back. She ran for the boulders, her heart pounding like a drum beneath her chest. She flung herself onto her knees when she reached the Warden's motionless form, an arrow lodged in her shoulder and one she was certain was coated in poison.

* * *

Morrigan had done all she could for Arielle, but until she was to regain consciousness, she could not draw the poison from her bloodstream. To do so in her quietus would be to put considerable strain on her body, and the witch did not want to take that risk. With her magic she halted the poison in stasis to prevent it from travelling to the Warden's heart. All that was left to do now was to wait for the girl to wake up, and face the consequences of her actions at Denerim on the eve of the final battle against the Darkspawn.

* * *

For three days Arielle remained in a state of quiescence while Morrigan purged her magic into her body to stay the poison in her veins. The mage kept a vigilant watch over her, never leaving her side for more time than was completely necessary. She would not allow her life to be taken by some pathetic barbarian's poison. Not after everything they had been through. She would not allow her shattering betrayal to have been in vain.

It was on the second day that she began to develop a fever. The witch had expected as much, having already prepared a pot of herbal tea which was simmering on the fire outside the tent. When she went to take it off the heat, a piercing scream filled the thin, icy air and she let the pot fall to the ground as she rushed to the Warden's side. She was not in danger, which the mage was tremendously thankful for, but neither had she yet awoken. She tossed and turned beneath the blankets as beads of sweat peppered her increasingly pallid skin, mumbling inaudibly. Morrigan touched her hand to Arielle's forehead, feeling fire beneath her fingertips that was not of the magic kind. She swept damp strands of auburn hair from her face, knowing that her fevered nightmares would grow worse, and wishing that there was something she could do to dispel them. But she was concentrating all of her magic on the poison, and none could be spared to ease the fever or the terrors that would fill her insentient mind.

"Please…" Arielle's eyes were still closed, but her face was contorted with grief. "Don't… don't leave me…"

The mage reached for her hand, taking it in both of her own, "Arielle."

She continued to toss and turn, unaware of the witch's presence beside her. "I… see… them!" She began to whimper. "Quiet! Whispering, whispering… be quiet!" She snatched her hand from Morrigan's grip and pressed her palms over her ears. "The demon… white eyes… scorching fire… it can't see me… no… don't look…" Her hands moved from covering her ears to grasping at the blankets frenziedly, helplessly. "No!" Her eyes opened suddenly, wide and terrified, but unmoving. Her entire body stiffened, prompting the witch to hastily check she was still breathing, for at that moment, she looked nothing more than a lifeless corpse. "Morrigan…" The mage's eyes flicked to her face, which remained inexpressive. Hearing her name on the Warden's lips again caused her heart to squeeze in her chest. She hadn't thought herself capable of such an emotion, but she'd known it from the moment she stepped into Alistair's room to convince him to participate in the ritual. She'd continued to feel it for each day ever since. It was guilt. And now Arielle was there with her again, it had intensified on an almost unbearable scale.

The girl continued to stare blankly at the ceiling of the tent, and though seemingly awake, she was by no means lucid. A small sob escaped her trembling lips and tears welled in her empty green eyes.

She was, all of a sudden, so vulnerable; so fragile.

She'd hidden it well during their journey, but she was not the seamlessly resilient and unflinching warrior she so often fooled the others into believing. The mage had always been able to see through her façade, but her displays of fragility had not incited distaste within the witch as she knew it should have. In fact, she rather admired the pretence she kept up, because everyone else seemed oblivious to what their leader – their _friend_ – was really thinking and feeling. She delighted in the fact that she was the only one who knew the truth about Arielle. It gave her – no, _entitled_ her to – a sense of supremacy over the other fools who followed the young woman around like lost Mabari pups. It suddenly made their relationship far different from, say, the one the Warden shared with Leliana, whose self-indulgent tales the witch was sure she only listened to in order to humour the redhead, as opposed to actually having an interest in such frivolity. Morrigan would be the person she could speak to about things she daren't discuss with the others, instantly adding another dimension to their rapport. Quite why she wanted such intimate interaction with the younger woman, she didn't know. She had never cared for making, much less keeping friends; especially those who demonstrated such nauseating compassion for others.

Arielle's indifference towards her at the beginning of their journey had also acted as an incentive to get her attention. She'd often treated Morrigan as though she was invisible, and ignored her snide remarks and rarely bothered to seek her opinion. In truth, she rarely bothered with her at all. It was only when she'd disappeared from the camp one eve that the Warden spoke to her properly. She hadn't felt the need to tell anyone where she was going, because firstly, it wasn't any of their business, and secondly, she was sure no one would notice her absence. But when she returned, Arielle immediately rose from her seat beside the fire and approached her with a cold, elusive elegance she wasn't aware she possessed. She'd said, 'I would appreciate it if you were to tell me the next time you decide to go frolicking in the woods alone. If I don't know where you are and you're ambushed by a horde of Darkspawn, I can't help you.' And with that, she had turned and walked back to her own fire, leaving the witch speechless, of sorts. She'd been ready to retort with, 'Had you wanted to frolic in the woods with me, Warden?' followed by a remark about being perfectly able to defend herself against enemies quite capably, but her lips had not moved and the sound had not come from her mouth.

It appeared the only time Morrigan had at least some of Arielle's attention was when she made her angry. In her twisted world, anger was better than nothing at all. At the very least it was an acknowledgement of her existence. From then on, she made it her priority to aggravate the younger woman in any way possible. The snide remarks became more spiteful and more frequent and she tried to be as selfish as possible. She knew that Arielle hated selfishness, and it would only be a matter of time before the Warden became furious with her obnoxious attitude.

The second time she left the camp alone, the girl had followed her. She had charged out of the darkness, sword drawn and raised above her head, ready to strike the mage; testing her. However, she'd been aware of Arielle's presence close behind her from the outset, and had cast a bolt of lightning at her before she was even within swinging distance. The spell hit the warrior's hand and shivered up her arm, causing her to drop her blade.

'I expected better,' the witch had said, eyeing the Warden amusedly as she cradled her electrocuted hand. ''Tis not I who would need help against a Darkspawn ambush.'

'It's hardly a fair fight,' Arielle muttered, flexing her fingers as she recovered from the electricity that had skittered along her sword arm.

'Correct me if I'm wrong – which I rarely am – but weren't _you_ the one who charged _me_?' Morrigan scoffed. 'Do not pick fights you can't win, Warden.'

The speed with which Arielle darted forwards, knocked her staff from her grip and slammed her against a tree with the edge of a knife pressed to her throat astounded the mage. She'd never thought someone capable of taking her by surprise like that, especially someone without magic.

'And complacency will get you killed.' Sharp green eyes stared threateningly into amber.

The witch felt a tingle of electricity run through her body that the Warden had conjured, though not by magic. She could feel her light breath on her lips and she could smell her scent. She revelled in the touch of Arielle's thigh to hers, and the way her hips were pressing firmly against her own. Morrigan could see by the slight smirk and the twinkle in the younger woman's eyes that she knew the mage rather enjoyed being subdued by her. She slowly edged her lips closer until they were a hair's breadth away, and then removed the knife from Morrigan's throat and stepped back, lengthening the gap between them. 'Goodnight,' was all she'd said as she disappeared through the trees.

* * *

She recalled one evening when Arielle had jolted awake from a particularly frightening nightmare. She'd been watching her writhing on her bedroll for the best part of fifteen minutes, contemplating whether or not it was best to wake her or to just let the nightmare take its course in her sleeping mind. She averted her gaze when she saw her wake up, concerning herself with a small patch of desiccated grass struggling to survive against the heat of her blazing fire. She allowed herself to steal another imperceptible glance at Arielle as she stood, and saw the glimmer of tears trickling down her cheeks. The mage had followed her shortly after, walking down the small, stony slope to the water's edge where Arielle was standing.

'If you've come to let me know how pathetic you think I am, then please, save it.' Gone was the cold confidence she'd been witness to in the woods.

The witch almost felt affronted by the presumption. 'You hold me in high regard, it would seem,' she said, the sarcasm in her words blindingly obvious. 'But I'm not here to gloat.'

'I find that hard to believe,' muttered Arielle, shivering as a cool breeze swept across her skin.

'Why?'

'There isn't anything you've done that would make me think otherwise.'

'I did not come here to gloat, I can assure you. If truth be told, I came here to offer… _comfort_–' the word felt strange on her tongue, '–should you want it. Is that not proof enough?' She studied her tear-streaked face to try and gauge her reaction.

Her myrtle eyes told the mage that she was unsure. 'Why would you comfort me?' Another tear trickled down her pale cheek.

Morrigan watched the reflection of the moon on the lake's surface shimmer with the ripple of the undercurrent. 'Regardless of how hard you might try, you cannot do this alone.'

'I'm not alone; Alistair is a Grey Warden, too.'

'But he does not bear the same burden that you do. Every decision, every consequence, every command, is your responsibility. The most difficult decision _he_ has to make is which horrid recipe to torture us with for supper.' She saw the faintest of smiles on Arielle's lips, but it was gone again in the blink of an eye. 'You won't let anyone else in; you won't let them see you are just as easily broken as anyone else. You are afraid that if they know how you truly feel, they will begin to doubt your capabilities as their leader.'

When fresh tears began to spill down Arielle's cheeks, Morrigan knew she had been right in everything she'd said. The younger woman turned away, ashamed that the witch should see her crying. 'And you? Do you doubt me?'

'No,' she'd said, and it had been entirely true.

Arielle scoffed disbelievingly, provoking a spark of anger from the mage. It was not often she graced another with sincerity. To have it derided reminded her why she rarely made the effort.

'I see you are profusely grateful,' said Morrigan acerbically, narrowing her eyes at the girl. 'Very well – I shan't waste my breath trying to help you if this is how you wish to behave.' She turned briskly and began to walk away, her fists clenched by her sides in an attempt to prevent herself from firing a bolt of lightning at the Warden. How dare she be so unappreciative! The witch had trusted her enough to show her that unkindness was not all she was capable of, and she had thrown it back into her face. She was a hypocrite. So often she had reprimanded Morrigan for her ungratefulness, and there she was doing exactly the same thing.

'Wait, please.'

Morrigan's heart and head were commanding her body to do different things. Her head was telling her to ignore Arielle's plight and continue back to her camp, but her heart… her heart was telling her to let go of the anger she was feeling and remain with her by the lake. It was a beautiful night, after all. Since the Blight had begun, there seemed little beauty in the world anymore; only dark, vile beauty in the battles against the Darkspawn. The flames that erupt from her fingertips and melt the armour and skin of Genlocks; the blizzard she can conjure even on the hottest of days; the squall she can summon even when the sky is devoid of clouds. Those things were beautiful in a powerful, brutal way. The grace and speed with which Arielle swings her blades into attacking Darkspawn; the deadly dance she performs as she stabs and slices tainted flesh; the glorious smile she wears on her blood-spattered face when she flies through the air and drives her swords through the head of an ogre. Those things too, were beautiful.

'Please don't go… I'm sorry. I…'

In the end, it was Morrigan's heart that triumphed over her head. If it were anyone else, she wouldn't think twice about walking away, even if they beseechingly asked her to stay. But Arielle wasn't just anyone else. The witch might even consider her an equal, and it wasn't often she met someone worthy of such a significance. It was also somewhat worrying. The Warden was the weak spot in her suit of armour. She was dangerous. To protect herself, Morrigan knew she ought to distance herself from her entirely, perhaps even to the extent that she should leave the party and return to the Wilds. That was the sensible thing to do.

But she had no interest in sensibility.

'I… I don't want to be alone anymore,' whispered Arielle, so quietly that the witch strained to hear it.

She turned to her as she stared out onto the lake, briefly admiring the way the moonlight caught her delicate features and gave her an ethereally beautiful appearance. The fresh tears that mapped her cheeks shimmered silver, falling in light patters in the dirt at her feet. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. All of a sudden, everything she could think to say seemed inadequate; useless. She moved silently to stand beside her, looking straight ahead and feeling the Warden's eyes burning into the side of her face. 'I know I'm exceedingly attractive, but some think it rude to stare,' she drawled sarcastically.

Arielle looked away quickly, a light shade of scarlet touching her cheeks. 'Why do you care?' It wasn't a snide remark, but rather an inquisition.

'I don't recall saying I did.'

'If you didn't care, you wouldn't be standing here with me,' said Arielle.

'I didn't realise I had to ask your permission to stand by the lake, too. But since you're here, I'm sure we'll be safe from any Darkspawn that might decide to jump out at us.'

'Not once since we've been here have you come to stand by the lake. Why do so now?' asked Arielle, turning her body towards the witch.

'Do you believe there is an ulterior motive behind my actions?' Morrigan's emotionless eyes and vacant expression gave nothing away when she faced the young Warden.

'I wouldn't know.' The tears were still glistening on her cheeks, but Arielle's eyes were no longer woeful and instead held a silent challenge. She was daring Morrigan to tell her the truth.

And so she did. Forgoing words, she closed the gap between them to tell the Warden the truth by capturing her lips in a kiss.

* * *

"Morrigan?"

The witch was wrenched from her reverie by the sound of Arielle's hoarse voice and the rough cry of pain as she attempted to sit up. She allowed a brief glance at the girl's now reactive eyes and placed a cool, soothing hand on her damp forehead.

"Where am I? What…" The Warden shuddered in spite of how warm she felt at Morrigan's touch.

"Your fever is getting worse." She pulled the blanket down a fraction so she could examine the puncture wound but also preserve her dignity. It wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, but at that time it had been under different circumstances. Right now, it didn't seem the appropriate thing to do. "The arrow was poisoned." She did not look at Arielle as she spoke, and gently peeled back the layer of gauze she'd used to cover her injury. "I have tried to keep it from moving through your body for as long as possible," she continued, "but there is only so much my magic can do."

She didn't need to look up to know Arielle was watching her. "It seems ironic that I survive fighting dragons and horde after horde of Darkspawn but it's a poisoned arrow that ends up killing me." She let out a rasp of half-hearted laughter.

"Now that you're awake I can draw the poison out," said Morrigan, lifting her gaze momentarily. "But it's going to be painful."

"I found you."

"I told you I didn't want to be found."

"I don't always do as I'm told." Arielle caught her hand as she finished replacing the gauze on her shoulder. "Morrigan, look at me. Please."

The mage hesitated for a moment before looking up at her with hard amber eyes. "Once I've extracted the poison you must go back." It hurt her to say those words as much as it hurt Arielle to hear them.

Grief darkened her emerald eyes as she released Morrigan's hand and turned away. "Very well."

The witch felt tears prick her eyes and she quickly rose from the floor and left the tent. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she was powerless to stop them. She hadn't cried since she was a child; it wasn't in her nature. She cursed under her breath and roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It was only when she was around Arielle that she felt all these pitiful, pathetic emotions and that was why she needed to be as far away from her as possible.

A grunt behind her caused her to abandon all thought and she spun around to see the Warden wrapped in a heavy blanket stumbling down the snow-covered path, clutching her injured shoulder. Morrigan rushed to her as her legs gave way and she fell. "Arielle! What are you doing? You need to rest."

"I'm doing what you want."

"You're being foolish! If the poison doesn't kill you the cold will."

"Then let it."

Morrigan snatched her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet, slipping an arm around her waist to support her. "I can't."

* * *

**The end is nigh! Only one more chapter to go until this (long (and possibly boring)) journey ends. Thanks to everyone who is still reading and thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review; I really appreciate it.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This has taken me a horribly long time to complete, and for that, I apologise profusely. Without further ado, I present to you the final chapter of When You Hurt Me The Most. Enjoy, review, criticise, eat cake, ride a unicorn.

* * *

Arielle attempted to struggle against Morrigan's hold on her, but it was no use; she barely had enough energy to hold her own head up. She didn't quite know what she was hoping to achieve by leaving the tent and going out into the cold, especially whilst she was in agony from the wound to her shoulder, but the fact that the witch had even come to her aid in the first place was proof enough that she cared, to a certain extent.

Morrigan lead Arielle back into the tent and carefully lay her down on the pile of blankets and furs she'd fashioned into a bed. She readjusted the large blanket around her to keep her from the cold, and checked the bandaging to make sure she hadn't ruptured the puncture wound too severely. There was a gentleness to the witch's ministrations that Arielle had rarely seen before, and a sense of disquiet in her eyes that seemed somewhat unfamiliar. She touched the girl's forehead with the back of her hand, feeling fire. She reached for the cloth and the bowl of cold water she left next to the opening of the tent and tenderly dabbed her brow to soothe the poison's fever.

"As I said before, once you've recovered, you must leave me," Morrigan said quietly, again unable to bring herself look at Arielle as she spoke.

Arielle was silent for a few moments, finding the pain in her heart far more agonising than the pain in her shoulder. She wanted to simply break down and cry, but her pride would not allow it. She determinedly fought away the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes, finding it almost as testing as killing a Hurlock.

But what she said next was more difficult to utter than even battling the Archdemon itself, "I will."

She turned her head away to stop Morrigan touching her forehead with the cooling cloth. She was feeling so betrayed by the witch that she didn't want her anywhere near her, even if that meant she was forced to suffer through the fever.

The witch suppressed a sigh of frustration and set the bowl down next to the bed. "I'm sorry, Arielle." She reached out to touch her shoulder, but then thought better of it and allowed her hand to drop to her lap.

When Arielle spoke, her words were as cold as the Frostback snow and her voice was unwavering and firm, "It would have been easier for both of us if you'd just left me to die out there."

Morrigan grimaced at the girl's candour, and shook her head. She spoke sombrely and sincerely – more so than she had ever done before, "You know I could never do that."

"Don't you understand?" She turned back, then, to look into the mage's tawny eyes. "Without you, my life… it just doesn't mean anything to me anymore…"

"Don't say things like that."

"It's the truth," Arielle said.

"What about your brother? Or Alistair, Wynne, Oghren, or…" Morrigan paused, forcing herself not to allow any vitriol with the next name she spoke, "…Leliana?"

"They all have their own lives to lead now the Blight is over," Arielle said miserably. "My brother is to be Teryn of Highever; Alistair the King of Ferelden… Wynne is likely going to return to the Circle; Oghren to Orzammar… and Leliana…" She trailed off, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt when she thought of the redheaded bard again. "Leliana will almost certainly return to the Chantry; perhaps even to Orlais... There is nothing left for me here, except to go down into the Deep Roads and slowly wither and die with the last of the Darkspawn."

"You could go to Highever with your brother, could you not?" Morrigan suggested. "After all, every noble house needs a woman's touch to keep it in order."

Arielle shook her head sadly; the witch's attempt to make her smile overlooked, "I don't belong there – not anymore… I'm a Grey Warden now, not Lady Cousland. Things will never, and can't ever, go back to the way they were before. I was foolish to think otherwise."

"You could never be foolish, Arielle," Morrigan professed, wishing she could take hold of the girl's hand to let her know she meant every word she said. But she wouldn't. She didn't want to give her the wrong impression, and more importantly, she didn't want to play with the Grey Warden's feelings. She'd done it before, but she refused to do it now. "You are wise beyond your years."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Say things like that. Pretend to be nice to me," Arielle said. In a quieter voice, she continued, "You planned it all along, didn't you? The ritual… Alistair… the Archdemon. It wasn't to save me at all; it was so you could harvest the power of that… _thing_ growing inside you." She paused for a moment, collecting herself. "I believed every word you said about Flemeth, and what she was doing… but now I see you are just the same as she." The Grey Warden turned to look at the Witch of the Wilds again, and let out a short, dry, laugh. "That _is_ what they say, isn't it? Like mother, like daughter."

Morrigan's eyes flickered with fire, juxtaposed with glistening tears. "Is that what you truly think?"

"You haven't given me any reason to think otherwise."

The red-hot blade of the Warden's words embedded itself deep into the witch's heart, and the pain almost felt so physically real that she nearly reached up to clutch at her chest. The tears flowed mercilessly down her cheeks, now; free, just like the birds. It was cathartic, and for the first time in her life, she didn't care that someone could see her like that – exposed, vulnerable. "The ritual _was_ for selfish reasons," she muttered, her voice shaking slightly, "not because I desired the power of an Old God, but because I couldn't…" she looked into Arielle's shining emerald eyes, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, "I couldn't bear to lose you." The words hung heavily in the wintry air, and all Arielle could do was simply stare expressionlessly at the mage.

Morrigan turned away, suddenly overcome by shame and anger. She hated being at the mercy of her own emotions, and loathed the way the young woman lying before her was capable of causing them to swirl around inside her heart and her head like a ferocious, unrelenting squall. She got up to leave, craving the punishing chill of the winds outside the tent to force her to regain control of herself. She didn't look at Arielle as she rose, afraid of what she might be able to read in the Warden's eyes.

She was just pushing aside the flap of the opening when the girl spoke softly. "If you couldn't bear to lose me, why did you leave?"

The witch turned her head slightly in acknowledgement, but her body remained positioned to leave the tent. "This is the way it must be."

"You're wrong." Arielle's voice was strong despite her weak condition, and she determinedly heaved herself to her feet despite a painful protest from her shoulder. She held the bulky blanket around her as best she could, and stepped towards Morrigan. "It doesn't have to be like this, and you know it." She could see the mage's shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. "Why did you go to so much trouble to keep me alive if you never planned on seeing me ever again?"

"I… do not know what this child may be capable of, Arielle… I cannot risk it hurting you. I couldn't forgive myself..." She turned around slowly, taking in Arielle's features – memorising them – as if it may be the last time she might look upon her. Her heart squeezed in her chest, for even though she was frightfully pale, red-eyed and dishevelled, the witch still thought her extraordinarily beautiful. "I _can't_ forgive myself."

"Morrigan, I don't…"

Arielle blinked, swaying on the spot. Her eyes closed, and she toppled forwards. The mage stooped to catch her and carefully lowered her back down onto the furs. The poison was taking its toll on her body, even despite Morrigan's magic keeping it in stasis. She needed to draw it out, and quickly, for she already feared she may be too late. She knew it was best for the Warden to be awake during the process, but she wasn't sure she had time enough to wait for her to wake up again, and she certainly wasn't prepared to take that risk. Uncovering the vicious wound again, the mage held her hand over the puncture, feeling her magic tingle in her fingertips. Slowly, she began to siphon the poison that lingered in Arielle's bloodstream. The girl writhed and struggled in her insentient state, prompting Morrigan to have to restrain her with her free arm and cast another spell to temporarily stop her body from moving. She cried aloud; the pain so raw in her screams that it almost brought Morrigan to tears again, and she bit down hard on her lip to stop herself. She needed to concentrate, for Arielle's sake, and she couldn't do that if she was a sobbing wreck.

Once the remainder of the poison was drawn out, the girl seemed to rest peacefully. The witch slumped, drained from the large portion of mana she'd consumed, but relieved that it was finished; relieved that Arielle was going to be okay. She leant forwards, brushing her lips gently against the Warden's forehead, and walked wearily out of the tent to refresh herself with the cold mountain air.

* * *

Morrigan spent the next few hours outside next to the fire, occasionally checking to see if Arielle was experiencing anymore discomfort. She sipped the herbal tea she'd made, the warmth radiating through the ceramic gently warming her cool hands. The frosty air was relatively calm with only the slightest of breezes, upon which the snowflakes floated like tiny little white birds. There was something beautiful about the isolation of the snowy mountains that couldn't be found anywhere else, but up until that point, it had been lacking something she hadn't been able to put her finger on. Now, she knew exactly what it was.

Arielle.

* * *

She was three-quarters of the way through her tea when she heard movement behind her. Conjuring a small flame in her hand, it would serve to waylay her possible assailant long enough for her to get to her staff, and, failing that, she always had a small knife – no longer than her middle finger – tucked inside her boot.

"I'm ready to leave."

The flame in Morrigan's hand dissipated as her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. "Very well," she bit out, unable to hide the strain in her voice. She set her cup down on a flat rock she'd been using as a table, and forced herself to stand up.

"Thank you for the help," Arielle said coolly, formally. The witch didn't turn around, so she continued to talk to her feathered back. "I don't expect we'll see each other again." She paused, waiting for the older woman to at least acknowledge her. Not even the slightest twitch, just as she'd expected. The tiny sliver of hope that had been lingering in the back of her mind now vanished, once and for all. "Goodbye, Morrigan."

The apostate could hear the snow crunching behind her as Arielle started to walk away. All of a sudden she seemed to realise the certainty of the situation, and it frightened her. The thought of losing Arielle again frightened her. She turned, taking a few brisk paces to catch up to her, "Wait."

The Warden froze, her heart pounding ferociously beneath her ribcage.

"I can't lose you again. I _won't_ lose you again." Words that she would have once found difficult to say flowed easily from her lips and off her tongue. "When I left after the battle with the Archdemon, I thought I was protecting you. I thought you would be better off without me, knowing what I'd done; how I'd betrayed you… that I'd be better off on my own…" She closed her eyes tightly, trying to maintain her composure. "I realise now that I was so very wrong. I love you, Arielle. I love you, and you are the only person I have ever loved, and will ever love."

The Warden turned around, then. Her cheeks were glistening with tears, but she was smiling. She crossed the gap between them swiftly, capturing the witch's lips with her own. "I love you too, Morrigan." She took a step back, her gaze lowering to the mage's stomach. "This child; God… whatever it is. We can face it together. Raise it together. I don't care. All I know is that I don't want to be apart from you again."

Morrigan was already smiling, but now it grew wider, and lit up her eyes. Her mother had told her a story when she was a child – though she wasn't usually one for soppy tales – about how all people used to have two heads and four legs, until the Maker split everyone into two parts. Each half then had two legs and one head, but only half of their soul. And so, from then on, each person would spend the rest of their life searching for their soul mate – the one who possessed the other half of their soul.

Arielle was her soul mate. Of that, she was certain – more so than she'd ever been about anything in her life.

"We won't be apart again," she said, pressing her lips softly to the Warden's. "I promise."

* * *

**End.**

**A/N:** Thank you so, so much to everyone who's read, followed and reviewed this story. It means such a lot to me. I hope you've all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.


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